You know, those days that are so forgetful you can’t even remember why they’re bleh. I suppose bleh is better than bad, but still, it seems like there should be more excitement going on.
I recently received a pretty good review from the Story Sanctuary. That was exciting. (The Story Sanctuary is a great resource for finding out about young adult novels. You can check it out and the review of Balustrade by clicking this blue link: The Story Sanctuary)
As the first review I’ve gotten from someone whom I’ve never spoken with and who could be completely objective, the review encouraged me all over the place.
Of course, not every day produces a positive judgment on my writing. Some days swing the opposite direction.
That’s okay. At least it’s not dull.
Being a writer has its hills and valleys and some pretty long flat stretches. Some days are great. Some stink. And some are just boring.
I’m guessing here, but I feel fairly certain that these kinds of days aren’t restricted to writers.
Maybe it’s not a good review. Maybe instead it’s a good grade or a call from an old friend. And instead of self-doubt, it’s just being tired or overwhelmed.
And that’s life. Good, bad, and bleh.
Or is it?
Personally, I think life happens while we’re waiting for something better to come along.
Moments of time tick away forever lost, while we watch for the next win or wink or whiff of success.
When we’re on the hilltop, we soar, and when we’re in the valley, we long to be back on normal ground. And when we’re on those long flat stretches, we keep our eye on the mountain top and our back to the valley. All the while, precious seconds of just being with those we love, feeling the waves of life, and moving through our little existence go by, unnoticed and under appreciated.
In Through the Balustrade, the main character, Roxan, is always stopping to take mental pictures of moments in her life.
Her first day at work.
The first time she sees the moon.
Even the scary moment before she meets her enemy.
Maybe there’s more to that than just tucking mental scraps into the memory book. Maybe those long flat stretches possess more life than we recognize. I’m starting to think that we were never meant to live in the bleh, but if we are, then at the very least there’s meaning to be found there.
All of those amazing, horrible, and lackluster moments fit together to make up our life—the good, the bad, and the bleh.
Those moments mean something.
None of them are beyond the touch of God. And all of them can be useful. Figuring out how they’re useful…well, there’s an adventure that could very well eliminate the dreary days forever.
How about you? Are you getting the most out of each moment and not wishing them away?