grace grits and gardening

ramblings from an arkansas farm girl

Playing the Air Trumpet instead of Writing

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trumpet

morgueFile

 

Last night I dreamed I was back in high school with my best friends—Becky and Anita and Norma and Judy—and we sat crammed together on a bus traveling somewhere to march with the band in a Christmas parade. The bus was cold. We wore matching red and gray uniforms, our school colors, and tall white plumes extended from the tops of our headpieces. The bus noise level made talking difficult so mostly we just laughed. Laughing was easy and normal and what we did best. But the whole time I thought you don’t play an instrument. Why are you pretending to be in the band?

Thankfully I awoke before faking my way down a parade route playing the air trumpet.

Whew.

Tired from that dream.

But now I’m analyzing each piece of the dream because it’s a game I play and something I find interesting.

The first part is easy.

At the Razorback basketball game last night, I kept one eye on the band. They jazzed up Bud Walton Arena and looked to be having a blast.

Inserting myself into the high school “dream” band is more complicated since my only musical training has faded to Chopsticks on the piano. I believe this dream was a pathetic reflection on how I feel right now about myself. As a writer. Attempting to be part of a group that I’m not confident I belong in.

I know this sounds woe-is-me. And I realize this feeling is only temporary and probably attributed to a particular chapter in my manuscript that I’ve been struggling to edit combined with too much Thanksgiving food.

Doesn’t everyone feels this way from time to time?

Say yes.

 

Grace Grits and Gardening

Farm. Food. Garden. Life.

[tweetthis]Yes. Everyone has “woe is me” days. [/tweetthis]

 

Musical Pairing:

Tom Hanks and Sandra Bullock playing Chopsticks

 

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Comments

  3. Lemme tell you a story. 🙂

    I submitted a story to get into a writing workshop in 2012. I was accepted. But I was convinced that I had been accepted only because 23 other people who DESERVED to the in the workshop were selected, and they needed a 24th person, and I was the only other applicant. CONVINCED of this.

    When we all got together sometime on the first day of the workshop, someone tentatively brought up the subject. We learned that this is called Impostor Syndrome, and it’s something literally all writers suffer from time to time. We were assured that we each were selected on our merits as writers. And each of the instructors — some of whom have been writing for more than forty years and have dozens of novels under their literary belts — still expect someone to realize that they’re just faking it and come take back all the money and awards.

    You’re in good company. And yes, this, too, shall pass. 🙂

    • The Impostor Syndrome. That’s exactly what it is. Thank you for putting a name on it. I’m glad we are in the same club.

  4. Believe me, you do belong in those writer groups. Tomorrow is another day: you will be up bright & early, writing, writing, writing. I am sure of it. ( Go Baylor!)

  5. Yes! I was just reading this week’s edition of the Osceola Times, the Thanksgiving issue. Had to check out my name in the birthday section, confirming my half century age is real. It should be inherently wrong to include the delinquent tax list in the Thanksgiving paper but alas it was there and to my immense embarrassment, there I was again, in black and white. $399 in unpaid personal taxes! Oh the shame!

  6. I, too, have an imposter story. In college as a music major, I had to take “woodwinds.” So I chose the flute. I could play a (very) little, when a band tour to Benton was scheduled. Since my address was Benton (tho’ I’d attended Bryant), guess who was included in the tour???? Talk about an imposter! But when introduced, I stood, smiled (I hope), then sat. I’ll never forget that. We’ve all been there. xoxo

Food. Farm. Garden. Life.

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