15. End Game

When I launched this website over 4 months ago, I signed up for technical support, and goodness, did I need it. I had no idea what I was doing, never mind what I was getting myself into. My learning curve on the technology was a challenging climb, notwithstanding I had to write. 

Not too long after writing my 5th post, a support guy helped me through whatever was driving me crazy at the time. I think his name was Matt. Matt told me he loved the website (that was nice) and thought the subject of writing my stories was unique (it’s not, but still an encouraging comment). Then he asked, “Just how long will you keep this up? You know, how long will you keep writing your personal story?” I laughed, “Well, I guess until I’m in a home somewhere drooling on my keyboard.” Matt laughed, too. A little. Ten posts later, his question continues to echo in my mind. What’s my End Game? 

I admit this whole writing gig was an experiment, a lark, maybe. The pandemic shutdown was in full throttle, and like everyone else, I felt leaving my house would subject me to untold dangers, as though a poisonous unseen fog for which there was no defense would envelop me, like Soylent Green. Sheltered in place, I decided I had to do something, anything, to give me purpose beyond having the freedom to wander around Target for stuff I didn’t need. Writing seemed to be the natural thing to do. I’ve never written fiction, so my only option was to write about me, self-involved as it may have been. This is not the first time I’ve written my story. Knowing my life was about to take an uneasy turn, I began writing a journal the day I called 911 on both my parents back in 2012. The journal lasted 6 years until the digital app I was using went south, and the backup files were a complete mess. I mourned the loss of the journal for about an hour. It was filled with good and not so good writing, but it was essentially 6 years of moaning, albeit understandable considering all that had been going on. 

When I decided to write this blog, I wanted it to be beneficial not only to myself but also to others, like you, maybe. It turned out that a few of you did find my stories applicable to your life experiences. The blog was never intended to be solely a journal of my messy childhood, but also a reflection; a mirror where I might see myself with clarity and if I could look over my shoulder and learn how the past has affected me today, then perhaps you might, as well. So, hopefully, I haven’t been too self-serving.

Writing this blog hasn’t been easy. It has taken up much of my days and nights trying to figure out what I will write for the next chapter. I also unwittingly fell into the trap of how successful my blog was, which I promised myself I wouldn’t do. I’m on Twitter, attached, if you will, to #writerscommunity. It’s estimated there are anywhere from 50-80K people in this group, most tweeting about their next book release, or works in progress (#WIP), their struggles and dreams. I hoped Twitter would promote this blog, which thanks to a circle of friends, there’s been a bit of promise. It didn’t take me long to realize, however, there’s no correlation between followers and readership, and nothing stoked my insecurities more than watching the numbers.

I think God has a thing about numbers, by the way. He certainly inspired a book on the subject. After his many victories, King David, his hubris running amok, decided he would count all the people he ruled, the people who followed him. God made it clear that David should not get all wrapped in the numbers, but David, despite hearing God’s counsel, counted everyone anyway. The consequence of David’s actions wasn’t pleasant but this story has always struck me as interesting. I’m no theologian, so I won’t be rash in making any assumptions on this story. Still, I can’t help but imagine that God might have preferred David to minister to and lead his people in humility rather than boast about how popular he was. The human ego at work. 

For the past weeks, I’ve been hard-pressed to write. I imagined I had writer’s block, the bane of writers everywhere. I stewed and fretted and even shed a tear or two over my seeming inability to write another post on this blog. Self-doubt ran rampant, as did self-pity. I held several “Woe is Me Parties.” My Twitter feed had fewer and fewer interactions, meaning other than my close circle of Twitter friends, no one responded to my tweets. No one seemed much interested in what I had to say, let alone read my blog. I wracked my brain, trying to think of clever things to write so I could get a reaction. I started a Facebook page dedicated to my website; I started a second Instagram account. Including Twitter, I had (and have) 5 social media accounts, and all targeted to boost my blog’s readership. King David had nothing on my ego. Then it hit me: I had completely lost focus on why I started this blog in the first place. I started counting rather than fully appreciating the talent I have, regardless of how many people read my stuff. Epiphanies are great. 

You need to know that with every comment you have made here on the website or through Facebook or spoken through the love of my Twitter circle, I am startled. I literally blink in amazement, and I shake my head at the encouragement your words have given me. I have readers who have never commented, I have no idea who you are, but I know you are here. I no longer count how many of you are out there. I count instead on hoping you stay with me as I make a transition. 

I’ll stay on Twitter, but not take it so personally and limit my time spent courting the beast. I’ll stay with my close Twitter Group who have stood by me through this adventure. I’ll keep the website up and running. But my story has come to a close. There is an End Game to my messy story for what is written on my home page? “Imagine a new story for your life and start living it.” 

I’m glad I’ve written my story, but now it’s time to move into my imagination. I want to let my creativity run wild for a while, maybe write fictional stories or, better yet, fulfill the yearning to write historical fiction about my lost ancestors of Scotland. Maybe I’ll redesign the website, change the name, or maybe I’ll add to my memoirs a bit, or maybe…maybe.. I’ll take some time off from writing. Maybe I’ll clean out a closet or play with my dog more or take longer walks, or maybe I’ll go to Target.

I am not sure I have all the answers yet to the questions my past has asked of me. But I do know, I’m better for its writing. This End Game means I’ll stop looking me behind me. Because as long as I keep looking back, I will never see – or imagine where I am going. I still have time. Time to imagine a new story for my life and start living it.

There’s an odd and silly phrase that keeps running through my head: “If a writer writes in the forest and there’s no one there to read, is the writer still a writer?” Well, I stand in the forest and see my words rise.

So. The End Game has been played. Although it might be a while before I write again  – or maybe I’ll write next week if my muse decides to whisper in my ear, my prayer is that you, you who have been here to encourage and love me, will stay on this journey to who-knows-where. And with any luck, you who have subscribed will finally get an update. It’s been a battle with the email provider. I plan to win. 

I wrote in my first post, “Welcome to my blog.” Today I write, “Welcome to New Beginnings.” As a famous and rather large person once said, “I’ll be back.”

Alpha and Omega.

Alpha.