Earthquake yesterday - 7.2 - in Mexico. We felt it in San Diego, for forty seconds - scary - stood in closet - enough time to think about top floor falling - to be afraid - to pray.
An earthquake in Seattle when I was four. It shows up in my writing over and over. (Ray Bradbury says writer's should mine their loves, hates, fears and obsessions from childhood.) The Seattle earthquake becomes a metaphor in my novel - the child's world shaking apart...
(An earthquake on Easter, God rising, the stone rolling away.)
Well it shook me - literally and emotionally. When we are confronted with shaking, with things falling down, we wonder what the hell we are doing with the time we have left.
And to tell the truth, I never know if what I'm doing is the most valuable use of my time, or the best contribution I could be making. For instance, this. Should I not be working on my novel? On publishing? I got a rejection slip yesterday. It depressed me.
What I like about writing in this way is that I know people will see it. It's not just in a drawer waiting for some publishing god or angelic agent to rescue it and deem it worthy. I am a part of a community of writers. So yes, this is what I wish to be doing with the time I have left - writing, communicating, connecting. Thanks for being in my world.