Dreaming an Idyllic Future

Last Sunday I wrote about living in the past and feeling more comfortable there than in the present. During my early years, I lived, as most children do, in the present. Up to the age of thirty, when I left the convent, my mind and spirit were rooted in the day.

But between December 1966, when I left the convent, and 1992, when A Cat’s Life: Dulcy’s Story was published, I lived in the past, stewing about the experiences that had left me emotionally scarred and immature.

During those twenty-six years. I taught in grade and high school, earned a master’s degree in American Studies, worked as an editor and curriculum developer, and became a successful freelancer.

During those same years, I volunteered at an AIDS clinic; taught in an African-American dropout center; tried to organize a union in a department-store factory; taught in the inner city; got involved in Civil Rights; worked in political campaigns; and protested the Vietnam War.

The events of the day caught and held my attention, but still, when alone, I lived in the past, trying to discover why my psyche was broken.

Then in 1992, Crown published A Cat’s Life. The New York publishing firm later credited me with selling most of the 14,000 copies of the book that reached an audience. I liked to do all that marketing entailed. Within months, the hoopla affected my thinking patterns. Throughout my life I’d longed to be special. Then no one would abandon me as I thought my parents had in 1941.

And what, I thought, could be more special than a famous author? Almost overnight I went from dwelling in the past to dreaming of a bright and shining future. A future in which I’d be healed.

I longed to have an agent represent my writing; an editor encourage my ideas; a publicist market my books; readers who’d ask, “What’s your next book going to be about?” “When's it being published?” “Will your author tour bring you to our city?”

I dreamed of fame. Not to be a celebrity, but to be assured that readers would eagerly await my next book. And my next. I didn’t long for a wagonload of money—just enough to build a four-season porch on my house. I wanted my name to be recognized so my writing would be read.

The years passed: 1994, 1996, 2000, 2004, 2008. During all those years, I continued to write and to send query letters to agents. No luck; no interest. I began to accept that I couldn’t write well enough to be published. I was a hack.

Then in May 2011 I began to blog. A number of those who read my posts left comments complimenting my writing. Ah. Perhaps I wasn’t a total failure at the craft of writing. Perhaps.

The following year, Wayman Press published Dulcy’s second book: A Cat’s Legacy. Once again I spun dreams of the future: I’d be successful. Readers would enjoy my stories. I’d build that porch! I’d hire someone to help me research my planned Bronze-Age trilogy. I’d hire an artist to illustrate the cat books I planned. Once again, I dreamed big! Whenever I dwelt in thought, I lived in the future, dreaming of what might happen any day, any week, any month if only I held on.

I went from dwelling in the past to dreaming of an idyllic future. What would guide me into the delight of the present? That’s next week’s post!

Peace.

Photographs from Wikipedia.