When I am not writing, I sense that I have lost some deep part of me, like work and family and obligations have eclipsed an essential part of my SELF. I watch it unfolding, like a low-budget film where I can predict the next event. I am locked in to this predictable chain of events that will lead to me feeling like I lost a part of myself.
Where have I been? I’ve been building a house. I’ve been moving. I’ve been taking my youngest daughter to dance. I’ve been grading essays upon essays and teaching. I’ve been running a magazine. I’ve been recording my son’s band marching show. I’ve been doing important, necessary things, but not much of it has been for me.
My last blog was in March of this year. My novel is like like stagnate water; it needs to rush along the rocks of revision and trickle forward. I have almost ten chapters that meet my standards. Don’t get me wrong, I have about 30,000 words, but only ten chapters meet my litmus test of quality. I’ve prepared first readers to expect those chapters in the following weeks.
What can I say I have learned about my “long pause?” I’ve missed being here. I’ve missed my characters and their world. I’ve missed imagination and time to say, “I’m doing something for myself.” I’m not sure that my long pause was avoidable. Caring for three children and my husband. Teaching and encouraging my student writers. Building a house and moving. Ministering in our church. All of these take time, but I’ve missed you, writing. And I’m back.
Jodi Whitehurst 
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