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Passion and Pain of the Write Life By Monette Bebow-Reinhard
Once I had a 'Shiba laptop stolen out of my car-- right out from under my nose during valet parking at a Chicago hotel. Because I had been at two other stops before reaching the hotel, I could not be 100% sure Shiba had been in my car up to that point and so could not prosecute the hotel. The car insurance covered Shiba but not all the priceless perfect prose.
As any writer might, I felt something akin to mental rape, if such a feeling can be imagined. That night was a sleepless one, filled with tears, anger, agony. Because of the film festival I was attending, I stayed two nights at that hotel but cancelled the other two. Every time I reached for Shiba, she was gone. The process of reporting it stolen was nearly as bad, when I learned that no one cared, no big deal, happens all the time, call your insurance. I called a hundred used computer stores telling them to please contact me if someone comes in with a laptop fitting its description. I wanted my material back. Some projects were not backed up and cannot to this day be recreated. This feeling, this mental abuse, creates permanent blockage-- something I never knew before.
Even last week, two years later, I found myself thinking I was just going to find that I had misplaced it. It had been the best friend I talked to every day, shared secrets and plans with. Then a stranger got his hands on her and abused her in God only knows how many ways.
I felt violated-- worse, I wasn't sure I could go on as a writer.
Why me? I'd taken my laptop dozens of times before, and forgotten, on occasion, to lock up the car-- not anymore. Did the universe want me to stop writing? This was my first karmic translation-- I was on the wrong path. But what could the right one be? I couldn't think of a thing.
And that, I realized, was the problem. I had become so tied up in this writing career that I spent practically every waking minute writing, or thinking about writing, reading or researching, interviewing or reading my e-mail. Suddenly all that was taken away. Sure, I had backed up most of my material, but not the last six weeks' worth. I'm talking about an obsessive compulsion; my right arm had been cut off and I needed to know if I could live without it.
I had too many writing projects, all neatly tucked in their own folders, each and every one begging for attention. How could I just stop and find out what living was like? Writing was living, wasn't it? I wanted to get all these projects done so that I could start collecting all that hard-earned money and not have to take another doggoned boring stuffing-envelopes job, which makes it even harder for me to get all these projects done...
Life, for me, had become a burden… writing… socializing… spending time with the family… nothing was fun anymore because I had to complete a project in order to feel like a human being. Because I'd lost the fun my writing did as well, becoming stilted, hard to read, desperate-sounding.
So the only way to survive the loss of Shiba was to mourn it, and let it go. The universe wanted me to say yes, I was headed to burnout. Maybe I was already there-- that's how the thief snuck in, through the crack in my sanity. Maybe I left the laptop sticking up out of its bag a little too much so it could be easily seen by any thief-wannabe. Maybe I asked for it.
No. No one asks to be abused like this. But things do happen for a reason.
Now I write with paper and pencil when the urge hits, as a way to slow down and look around. I even wrote an entire story with my left hand just to enjoy the feel of creating the letters. Now I notice people as people and not just subjects for an article. Now I enjoy the sun rather than use it as an excuse to take the laptop outside.
Like everything else when we get too much of it, writing passion will wear us out. It was time to slow down, get in touch with who I am and reinvent my writing self.
So to all other possessed and passionate writers out there-- watch out, before your laptop is stolen, too.
Monette Bebow-Reinhard is a published historical novelist and attained a master's degree in history. Her work spans the themes of horror, the environment, spirituality, fantasy, and thrillers, with published short articles and fiction. Along with writing plays and movie scripts, she spends her spare time on stage-- and finishing projects rather than starting new ones.
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