One thing that I am not very good at is patience. ???I want, what I want, when I want it.??? It drives me crazy to wait on someone. If I am told to meet someone at 4:00 p.m., I expect that person to be there as promised, give or take five minutes. If someone tells me that they will call me that evening I expect that they will. I know my impatience comes from the fact that I try to honour all my commitments and I expect the same in return. Unfortunately, even if I know that other people don't see the importance of being on time, I cannot seem to get past it. Anyone can miss an appointment due to unforeseen circumstances but the person that makes a habit out of tardiness or absenteeism to my way of thinking is just plain disrespectful.

I am also impatient with myself. I know that I am slow by nature, and I feel that other people will be irritated with me for being that way as well.

I lack patience when it comes to my writing. For the most part, I am blessed with being an automatic writer. I have always been able to pick up the pen and just write, even if I did not know what I was going to write before I did so. The words would just spill from the pen to the paper without interruption.

My first book never started out with the intention of ever being a book, so I did not feel the pressure that I put upon myself to complete a novel within a certain framework. This is the current situation at hand. But my second novel had a deadline. When I sent in my synopsis to the publisher, I was asked to send the entire manuscript right away. Unfortunately it was not and still is not completed. Then they asked for a January deadline. I knew within myself that I would not be able to honour that date and informed them. Then they said that I could send it in for February first.

I sat, and I wrote, and I wrote, and I wrote, and I literally burnt myself out. I was worried about the deadline, and I was impatience with myself, since the book was not progressing as fast as I wanted it to. I was ill, and I was still working on the novel when I should have been in bed resting. I was so worried because I knew that I would be starting back to work, and I also knew that I would be taking writing courses, all of which would take away from my time for writing the novel.

What did I accomplish? ??“ Nothing. I still was sick, and probably even sicker worrying about banging out a book. Did I at least get the book finished for my effort? No I am still working on it. Will the publisher refuse the novel because I may not make the deadline? She told me that she understood that I was sick, and I could send it in after the deadline. It was not a problem for her at all. Since then she has taken in as many books as she wants to and informed me that she will not be needing anymore at this time.

So why did I do this to myself? Why, because I am the one who is impatience, I expect more from myself than any other human being. I know this attitude comes from the fact that all my life I have never felt like I have measured up.

Even though the significant people in my life have ratified those feeling in the past, what I am doing wrong is carrying that old baggage into the here and now, when those feelings and expectations are no longer meaningful, no longer valid. I still feel like I don't measure up. Yet, there are so many examples around me to show me that the contrary is true. I do measure up!

My need to do these exercises has nothing to do with measuring up. I know that Julie, the moderator, says there are no ???haftas???. I do these exercises because I get much personal value from them; in the area of writing and self improvement. These exercises are something I must do for me, even if I have to learn to be more patience with getting my novel finalized.

Right now I nurture the seedling of my dream that my novel will be finished, but not at the expense of my health, nor this writing course.

I nurture my writing. I aspire to grow; to improve, and broaden my horizons.

I know that I will take this time out for me, to improve my skills, and I know that this time out is not at the expense of my novel but will only serve to improve my ability to write.

I know that my focus should not be on putting forth a novel for its own sake. My novel will give the world a part of me; a novel that was written with love, a novel that came forth as free flowing and without time constraints. I take the time to truly nurture the writing muse within me.

The seedling of my dream looks like a novel that will be enjoyed by many people, a novel that readers will appreciate and note the time and care put into its creation.

The seedling of my dream sounds like the personal accolades that I will hear when my fans tell me how they enjoy my work, and how my work as touched them in some special way.

The seedling of my dream smells like ink and paper, tears, and the sweat of hard work. But it is the smell of success, not the smell of failure.

The seedling of my dream tastes like exotic fruit, not forbidden but extremely rare to come by. When I taste the passion that these sweet juices bring to my lips, I know that the wait was well worth it. I know that I want to taste these fruits over and over again, and I will do all in my power to continue to enjoy the exotic fruit; the fruit of my creation.

The seedling of my dream feels like I am a writer who can hold my head up with pride, for I know that I put forth the best work that I could, without constraint, without time limit, without external justification.

For me the realization that good work is worth waiting for, is far more important to my creative soul than to just bang out a book, on the proverbial production assembly line so that I can simply boast that I have done it.

Carol Roach

winterose @Videotron.ca