gloom despair

I am not posting like I should. There are no interview stories this year. No interviews since November. Oh, join a group, they say. Go out be with other people looking for jobs-groups forming everywhere. Blah- I'm not a joiner.

I've been battling deep despair- It's hard work to get up in the morning- to shower- to go see friends-I wondering what I'm doing here-I have no purpose...kids raised-can't get my stories published- can't find work-and yet- here I am- breathing, eating, taking up space... Doing my damnedest to be cheerful and entertaining on line-promote my books- cheer on other writers and friends. Meanwhile inside I'm bawling- always bawling- grief despair...sigh.

So, I gave myself purpose- wrote an entire 55,000 word book in three weeks to see if I could- judged a contest-now what?

I've decided to get my Master's degree- but reading the requirements- all lofty, wordy, high falutin' silliness...I have decided on the MA program at Seton Hill-An MA in Writing Popular Fiction. Which is what I do- where my gift lies. So with much worry and fear that I'm making yet another mistake, I am moving through the hoops necessary to apply- application filled out-check-request for letters of recommendation sent out-check-transcripts ordered-check...I still need to write my letter of intent, add a writing sample, fill out the financial aid forms-then wait...

Wait to see if I'm accepted. Wait to see if I can get enough money to pay for this adventure.

Meanwhile I am rewriting parts of an old book, querying agents on a thriller I wrote, applying for jobs, and battling the despair and grief that chokes me every moment of every day. And I dream... I dream of having worth, purpose, value. I dream of the day I'll be a real person-a real writer with a real job and perhaps a real love...