Pushing Through

by Joni Abilene

Have you ever felt like everything you identify with, love, desire and live for is on the edge of a diving board, and you’re tiptoeing across, trying so desperately not to upset the balance? That’s me right now. I’m a positive person. I wake up every day and hope for the best, do my best, and then at the end the day I look back with acceptance of both failure and accomplishment. Right now everything is so unbalanced, but I haven’t given up yet. I will never give up. The problem is, I might have to delay due to financial stress.

Oh life. I’ve been sighing so much lately. I don’t even mean to do it. Deep sighs from out of nowhere.

This summer I was going to write a book about Alice Prin, aka Kiki de Paris. She was lover of Man Ray, among others in the golden days of Montparnasse in Paris, early 20th century. For decades I’ve loved and dreamed about her, hoping to write a novelization of her life, but I might have to wait until I have more stability and money. I need to buy books about her, I need time to write, I need to be able to take care of my kids, live, eat—you get the idea. There’s this heaviness in my chest and tightness in my throat. Money. Money. Stupid, stupid money. I’ve been trying to find an agent for my current novel, Woman in Love, but it’s hard. Sounds great. I love the spunk. Not for me. I’ll pass. I wrote Woman in Love because it was exactly what I would pick up at any library or bookstore. I wanted desperately to write a novel about a woman whose life changes after reading The Hite Report. No one else was writing about it, why not me? I’m also a connoisseur when it comes to the 70’s. If you look up the 70’s in the dictionary, you might find a picture of me, such is my love and knowledge and compete saturation of the decade.

Sometimes . . . I feel like that little doll on the Island of Misfit Toys. Doesn’t anyone want my book, or me? Am I that hideous? An author once told me, after reading the first chapter of Woman in Love, that it was good and that I was a good writer. She said she’d read more if I had more. I’ve held onto her words, cherished them. Was I a fool to believe? Oh no, now I sound like Patrick Swayze.

I hope I can find a way to push through, to write that novel ALICE. I hope for world peace, and sometimes I wish Friday Night Videos would come back. Is that so wrong?