If I've been quiet for awhile, there are probably two causes for it.
One, I ambitiously applied for a real critique group to try and whip my novel manuscript in to some semblance of shape. I was kindly rejected. Of course, I retreated into inaction to lick my wounds rather than pushing forward with my long-neglected manuscript. Sigh.
Two, a few weeks ago I discovered that a good friend of mine, my senior-year college roommate, is losing her years-long battle with cancer and is now in hospice care. I got a further update this morning that she hardly has the strength to fully open her eyes or speak.
This once-vibrant young woman, now on death's door, is my age. Actually, younger.
What excuse do I have for frittering away my time instead of writing?
What reason could possibly be good enough to condone allowing myself to be distracted by silly stuff while my children grow up before my eyes?
If my life ended tomorrow, would I have a legacy to leave behind?
If any good can come from such a heartbreaking end, it has to be the people she loved living their lives more intentionally. I have already been trying to do this by being more present with my boys. I'd like to build on that by really focusing on working on my writing. So many writers lived only brief lives, yet they still have more to say to future generations through their works. I hope, even in a small way, to enrich others' lives through my own work.
With any luck, the world won't have heard the last of me when I breathe my last. My work will speak for me.
What do you hope to leave as your legacy?
