No Swamp

No swamp in this post, except for figuring out this writing game or should I say publishing, seeking out a living from writing, I go back and forth. Am I really supposed to do what I desire? By end of this summer break, I slipped into a schedule and am content. If I write at least an hour in the morning, I feel progress with life. Last week or two, I'm writing more as I feel contentment. I don't have to do everything.

Finding the platform is my thought the past few days. And for those waiting for my sequel, I am writing that. I want to finish another sequel, as we drove to a lake community last evening and I imagine Nana living near Cleveland and Lake Erie. I could work on that. The time between novels is even longer for those two- Outside of Time and Walking with Eternity, than Country and City, Gables and Gingerbread Stories. Oh, I read this morning, a writer shouldn't talk about their works in progress. I guess it destroys creativity.

I read a post today, that one person was kicked off Substack. It's like so many experiences, even if you don't like it or feel it isn't working for you, you want to make the decisions to leave. She felt criminal because they didn't even tell her what she did wrong. I chose Substack because I want to write short stories, fiction and I heard it was better than Medium. This author suggested two more platforms. I feel I can't find my audience as it is, do I keep flitting from one platform to another? I have settled on my flight itinerary, but now I'm praying against turbulence.

I ran across someone who is writing a book on Irene Shrader, the first woman electrocuted in Pennsylvania. He shows his research by photos of the people involved, the files and files of court records at the Lawrence County Courthouse, and writing outside yesterday because it was too nice to stay inside. I am glad a book is being written about this case. I wrote an article once and for some crazy reason, I didn't save it. I published most of my The Way It Was stories again on Miss Mollie's Musings, but for some reason, not this one. (frown face).

A few days later, I felt OK to be back at inservice. Everyone with their tans proved a restful summer they had. A lot took vacations to Myrtle Beach in the last weeks. I want to go back to Ocean Grove, New Jersey. More research on Shore, a Gables and Gingerbread Story. I'm determined this year to make the writing happen. First day, I needed a nap. I have an historical meeting I want to attend this evening. The population of Sharon and surrounding areas during the Civil War. Promoting another book by a young historian. I also hope I can obtain a cover photograph for City. Our Sharon Historical Society meetings always live to the promise of interesting. Most of the time, standing room only. Sharon always fascinated me. My mom presented an air of superiority for her hometown over West Middlesex. The city verses small town.

I guess I started this piece because I felt it, the indecision of where to find my platform. I'm not getting response here. Substack frustrates me as I get new subscribers but I'm sure they are not real people. Also, I'm leaning back to Medium to be a paying member again. I don't know if that will make a difference. I read the article that there are other platforms out there.

I like writing a piece because, then it's done. Good or not. I'm getting little feedback on Ghost, but the article is done. I've accomplished. Today, I'm getting notification that replies and comments weren't being read or something. Now, I can't find it.

I venture into another leg of this journey. My goal didn't get met, but that has happened before. I got a flow again on City. I have to keep showing up. Today, as I walked into the house, I happened to look up the books my husband is storing in the basement. I'm writing about 1932 and I saw the book, 1932, The Rise of Hitler and FDR. I read an interesting chapter last year on these two as well as Churchill in Michael Medvec's God's Hand on America. Research! Always a problem. Research is a part I love. I'm trying to write the story this time first, but I dragged the book upstairs to look at it.

I had to write an email about my position at the school. My husband came home, quiet gone. Then as I skimmed through my email, my eyes became heavy as well as my head. Ah, a good nap. Now time to get cleaned up a bit to go to the historical meeting. Pray I find my new rhythm for writing this year.

And I returned from the lecture by the young man, Taylor. My mind filled with ideas for City. Eva and Christina's grandfathers would have been in the Civil War. I even wrote that Abe, their father, said that in my last section. Another writer on my Facebook author page, commented about the 1932 book, it would be good to hear personal stories. I grew up with those stories. In fact I thought of one my mother told me, when I glimpsed about Lincoln's funeral train in Taylor's book (The Civil War in the Shenango Valley) and thought how just eighty years later, FDR's body left Georgia on a train. No swamp, but that may be one of my stories in the future. History and story do go hand in hand.