Written Into A Corner

Several years ago, out of work and searching for a new self, I began to write children's books. I started with a big idea. I continued with weekly classes. I filled long afternoons and traffic-filled bus rides with tweaks on what I was writing. I worked on having an open mind and a thick skin, entities not so different from those needed in TV work, yet challenging at times.

And then, my book journey ended. It's hard to say--was it the appearance of paid work that took away my time and my energy? Was it simply a change in direction, or was it an acknowledgment that some things just aren't meant to be?

I could go back to my book today, but it would be as a different person. I could pick up those pages and work on them, but who's to say whether I would find them brilliant or boring? Would they give me a feeling of return, or a feeling of failure? Because sometimes, you can revisit, but how often can you really go back?

My children's book may never go any farther than a series of documents on my desktop. It was a moment in time that has passed, perhaps not a success, but maybe not a failure either. I guess it just got written into a corner. And for now, I try not to spend too much of my time sitting in the corner...