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My life is under construction.

Everyone’s life is constantly under construction, since life is change. We’re constantly building upon ourselves and our pasts to (hopefully) achieve something better or different or find a way to deal with things we’ve had thrown at us.

I’m in the trying to build something better phase.

Part of my life is literally under construction–my house. We’re adding two bedrooms and an office to the house we call the rat hole (sometimes we say it with affection, other times decidedly less so). We’re going from 1,100 sq ft to 1,600 sq ft, so while it’s not a huge change, it’ll give us just a bit more breathing room. Then, hopefully, we can get all the kids’ crap out of the main room and into the bedroom that will serve as the playroom until such time as the kids decide they no longer want to share a room. Although it’s uncomfortable now (we’re still living at home during the remodel), and will get even more uncomfortable if we’re able to afford remodeling the kitchen and master suite, it’s for a better future. I can inhabit that hope, live in it so that the every day noise and mess and things that come with construction don’t bother me. I can’t wait for the work to be done and live in a better home.

Then there’s my day job. I’m fine with it. My benefits are good. It’s stable. There are lots of things I like about it, and some things I wish were different. My main problem is that my ambition is no longer directed toward my day job. When I think about what I want to do next, the answer is always writing, not climbing the corporate ladder. Still, I have to get my act together and try to find something that I can grow in. As comfortable as it might be to stay where I am and just let the days flow over me, I think it will be better if I grow. So perhaps I will find the right position, or it will find me.

Finally, there’s writing. All I want to do (other than cuddle aforementioned kiddos, since they’re still in the cuddling phase) is write. I have a new story idea blossoming inside me, and I’ve been researching like crazy. I’ve been reading books on writing in addition to the research for the story. I attended a master class with Donald Maass (I highly recommend attending his classes). I had my query letter critiqued by an agent. A published author critiqued the first two pages of book two. I’ve been getting great feedback from my excellent critique partners. I want to write, I want to get better. One of the things I love about writing is that there’s always something new to learn, something to improve. I look forward to walking that path for the rest of my life, whether I get published or not. Writing is not really a choice for me at this point, regardless what ultimately happens with my story. It’s something I need to do.

And yet…all this construction means a lot of dust. It’s sometimes frustrating to have all the mess in all aspects of my life and nothing really to show for it, even though I know that moment is coming in the future. It’ll come with my house, probably by the end of the year. It’ll come with my job eventually. It’s harder to say with writing, and of course that’s the one that’s nearest to my heart. I want to feel like I’m getting better, than I can tell a story that others will want to read, that the reader will love the characters as deeply as I do.

That’ll come. I’ll keep working. Eventually the dust will settle and the next phase will begin.