I love a contest. The Steemit platform is full of them, and I regularly participate in writing contests and challenges because it gives me a deadline, and something specific to aim for. I've procrastinated on this one because it requires participants to talk about their true selves. Must I?
When called upon to share something about myself, I’m always tempted to point to the sky and shout “Look! Halley’s Comet!” Avoidance is key. Any excuse will do.
This avoidance is the manifestation of these three things:
- One part humility. (Who wants to hear about little old me? I’m not that interesting.)
- One part bizarre fear of exposure. (Oh no! They will realize I’m flawed!)
- One part egocentricity. (I cannot possibly describe myself in a succinct manner. I’m far too complex.)
Winning a ticket to Steemfest would be an astounding birthday present. (On November 3rd, my personal calendar rolls over and I celebrate the day I first wore my birthday suit.) But to enter this contest I have to talk about me? Oy!
Okay here goes. I promise I will try to make this more interesting than Aunt Sally’s photo album of her trip to the Hebrides.
The early years
Note to self: Retake that class in how to write catchy titles.
If you have ever read The Life and Times of the Thunderbolt Kid, by Bill Bryson, then you know what my childhood was like. I am a Baby Boomer, and my childhood was spent running around with a marauding pack of children, with very little actual supervision. We had no cell phones and no video games. We built forts, played Red Light, Green Light in the yard, walked to town to buy candy at the drugstore, and spent many an afternoon riding a red wagon down steep streets and over cross-roads, just hoping no car would be passing just then.
Perhaps we lived by the “safety in numbers” rule. We are more protective of our kids now. In those days, if a man pulled up in a car and exposed himself to us (yes that happened more than once), we’d get around to telling mom about it at some point. The response would be something like, “Well next time run into the house instead of standing there gawking at his business, for goodness sake!”
I was a child of the 60’s. I remember the assassination of JFK and the ensuing national despondency. I remember in grade school watching the first lunar landing with my class on a tiny black and white TV. I remember the Beetles at the height of their enormous popularity, the Vietnam War, Agent Orange and Woodstock. These things were the backdrop of my childhood.
I grew up in a family of seven. I was number four in a litter of five children. I think the pack mentality that formed out of that experience and being a Baby Boomer has had an enormous impact on my life. I’ve struggled at times to believe that I matter, but have also strived relentlessly to differentiate myself.
My father was a professor of theatre, which was another formational experience. I first appeared on stage at the age of 5, playing a bit part in a college play. I can’t remember which one. I attended many plays and acted in a few, amazed by the storytelling and all the wonders of the stage. Throughout our lives, we try many things, asking ourselves, “is this what I am about?” The theatre was one of those things for me.
The curse of creativity
I knew from an early age that I was meant for creative endeavors. But discovering what those endeavors should be, and how to galvanize my life around them, was no easy quest. I remember writing my first short story in 4th grade, and the exhilaration I felt at having made something from nothing. Mere words, arranged on a page in an order that suited me, had turned into a compelling tale, or so it seemed to my child mind. Perhaps if I had grown up in an era and a family where parents paid attention to children as individuals, I would have felt nurtured in some way, and would have recognized this event as a watershed. (That is a statement of fact, my friends, not a complaint. See Heffalumps and Woozles below.)
But such was not the case. For many years I alternately pursued art and creative writing. In college, I self-designed my major, and titled it “Writing and Illustration.” I wrote and illustrated several children’s books that I never published. In that process, however, I discovered that writing was my true calling, and abandoned any hope of becoming an artist.
I then pursued a master’s degree in writing, never knowing where it might take me. Writing made my soul sing, and yet I was the proverbial tormented creative soul, devouring literary works and feeling deeply unworthy. I identified with Sylvia Plath and Virginia Woolf, two of the most angst-ridden writers of the 20th century. Things ended badly for them both, and I thank the stars for whatever survival instinct helped me through that time.
Image source: Pixabay image by Kellepics
Heffalumps and Woozles
When you think about all the twists and turns that our lives can take, and all the difficulties and distractions that present themselves to us on the way to becoming who we are meant to be, it might help to think of those things as characters on the stage of our lives — our Heffalumps and Woozles. (If you haven’t heard of them, they are frightening characters from Winnie the Pooh that give children nightmares. See the wiki.)Even as we experience life changes — good and bad — and face losses and hardships that may seem as though they are throwing us off course, we become more of who we are. They are not just sources of fear or distraction; they are a part of us.
My personal Heffalumps and Woozles have been many and varied, and in this I’m quite certain I am not unique. I have lost people so dear to me that you may as well just take a limb, or cut out my heart. I have endured relationships that were so hurtful I thought I would never recover. And yet, out of that I learned how to be stronger, and to find what I truly want from life. I married the most awesome man, and we have three almost grown kids who surprise us every day with how funny and brilliant and unique they are. It’s kind of like that 4th grade story. “I made that!” And it took on a life of its own.
Also, instead of focusing on the trials and the hurts of the past through a “poor me” lens, I believe I am blessed to have made it through such a gauntlet intact. I count my blessings daily. And I have those stories.
There’s gold in them hills
My real point, and I do have one, is that the wild ride that is life is the best fodder for the creative mind. Show me a really great writer who has had a ho-hum life and has never dealt with adversity.
It took me a long time to get around to writing with earnest. But now that I am, I’m finding that everything I’ve been through is like a rich mine to explore for gems. I’m not talking about gold in the monetary sense; I’m talking about experience. The past infuses everything I write, and I believe my ability to tell stories that resonate with readers is all the better for it. In some ways, I have been on this writing journey all my life, even though there have been long stretches when I didn’t write a thing.
A little over a year ago I found Steemit through my brother-in-law, 
I can honestly say Steemit is one of the best things that has ever happened to me. Oh, I’m not looking at my wallet when I say that, because at the moment it's not pretty. But I am in this through fair weather and foul.
Why? Well number one, it is about the opportunity to write, develop my voice, get feedback, and self-publish while I also work on the fiction I’m developing for mainstream markets. Number two, it is about community, and these awesome people who make me laugh and inspire me with their writing wisdom and tenacity. And number three, I do actually believe in the long-term promise of this crazy crypto thing. But if I’m wrong, I won’t have wasted a single moment.
Let me give you an example of why I'm here to stay. A few months ago, I learned from my friends at The Writers Block about 
Here’s another example. The Writers’ Block recently put on a First Chapter Contest. I kept eyeing it and wondering whether I should give it a shot. I have been completely focused on short fiction and micro-fiction and the idea of attempting a novel was a huge scary Heffalump.
But an idea came to mind, and I just had to write it. This never would have happened if I hadn’t started on this Steemit journey, or if I was swayed by the gutting of crypto currency and in particular the price of Steem.
Since joining up with Steemit writing groups, I have completed drafts of an entire collection of short stories, taken over running the weekly 50-word short story challenge (#fiftywords), and started writing a novel. What will the coming year hold?
Okay, one more story before I wrap this up. (I did claim not to enjoy talking about myself, did I not?)
Most of my stories take place in Minnesota, where I have lived for 14 years. I love this place and its rich culture. I also have found that I am enjoying researching its history. The novel I started writing for the First Chapter Contest takes place in Minnesota, from the late 1920’s to the late 1950’s.
Oh my gosh, people, what a time in history! There was the market crash, the Depression, the dust bowl, the roaring 20’s, Prohibition, and gangsters. We had gangsters here in Minnesota. A lot of them!
So I'm having so much fun. I can't believe my good fortune in finding this platform, meeting all the wonderful people I've met, and finding writing comrades who demonstrate such amazing commitment and drive.
What if I could visit Krakow in November and hear first hand about all the awesome things in store for Steemit and the blockchain? Crossing my fingers! Thank you for putting on the contest, 
And thank you, as always, for reading.
Posted from my blog with SteemPress : https://jaynalocke.com/2018/08/23/blocktrades-writers-block-write-your-own-ticket-giveaway/