Prolific “Schmific”: The Unpublished Author’s Tale of Calamitous Woe

Virginia Woolf (1882–1941) English: Portrait o...
Virginia Woolf (1882–1941) English: Portrait of Virginia Woolf by George Charles Beresford (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

(Written almost entirely tongue-in-cheek with a teasing nod to the historical romance writers and readers in mind… Enjoy!)

Virginia Woolf once wrote, “As for my next book, I am going to hold myself from writing it till I have it impending in me: grown heavy in my mind like a ripe pear, pendant, gravid, asking to be cut or it will fall.” Dear, dear Mrs. Woolf tackled a problem that most would-be authors only dream of enduring—too many wonderful ideas for great works vying for dominance in her magnificent brain at once. (What does the word “gravid” mean, anyway?)

I’m sorry to say I don’t share Virginia’s dilemma. If I have a profound, original idea per quarter, I pat myself quietly on the back and hasten my return to a mundane, uninspired existence amongst the illiterate minions. My experience is probably more akin to that of Gene Fowler who wrote, “Writing is easy: all you do is sit staring at the blank sheet of paper until the drops of blood form on your forehead.” If you found that last sentence amusing, you’re probably not a struggling writer. But, I digress…

Don’t be alarmed, dear Reader. I’m not utterly miserable and dejected.  I’m actually having a very good day. There’s just one teensy weensy little thing gnawing away at me—the necessity to write these infernal, inescapable posts. Why the drama? Well, I suppose I do owe you a bit of an explanation. I’ve made up my mind, you see, to enter something on this blog religiously—if you’ll pardon the expression—three days a week. If you’re not a writer, you are likely vastly relieved to discover that I haven’t gone off my meds and succumbed to the relentless rat-a-tat clamor of murderous or suicidal voices in my head.

No, I’m not there yet, nor will I ever be. I am very happy to report that—fair weather or foul, good news or bad—I am ardently determined to lean serenely, marvelously, peacefully upon the everlasting arms of my dear Savior. Won’t you join me?

Have a blessed weekend….



5 thoughts on “Prolific “Schmific”: The Unpublished Author’s Tale of Calamitous Woe

  1. Sybil,

    A delightful post!

    I’m startled to discover I share at least one thing in common with Virginia Woolf (well, two, since we’re both women). Ideas swarm in my mind like mosquitoes in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula in July (take my word for it… it’s bad!). More than once I’ve thought I had a better chance of making a living selling ideas than I have of making a living selling a novel. I just haven’t figured out how to make that happen.

    I also must confess that I laughed out loud at Gene Fowler’s quote.

    Stick with the plan to write three blog posts a week. That’s what I’ve been doing for several months, now. No, it’s not always easy. Some weeks, coming up with a blog topic is like pulling teeth.

    But it is worth it.

    1. Thanks, Carrie… It’s nice to know I’m at least on the right track. I’m really learning to depend on Jesus for inspiration each blog day, because I’m just not wired that way on my own. Thanks for the encouragement!

      1. That’s definitely the best bet. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve sat down to write something with no clue what to write, then have a thought or an idea come to mind.

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