Kathy Holmes

It’s a new month, but before I can get on to talking about my creative plans for February, I have to write about my first trip to Orlando after moving from Orlando back home out west. We were so curious what Orlando would feel like – could we shake the ghosts of living in Orlando and become out-of-town tourists again – or would we want to move back to Florida? I needed to put all of this to rest so that I could focus on being creative instead of having these unanswered questions swirling in my mind.

The truth is, we definitely felt the ghosts of living in Orlando – a place that, surprisingly enough, didn’t suit us. In fact, the time we lived in Tampa felt much more like home. I grew up in southern California about 8 miles from Disneyland in one direction and about 8 miles from the beach in the other. I thought Florida would be a good fit for me, and, in some ways it was. But the beach and Disney were never close enough together in Florida – I felt like I had to choose one or the other. And, surprisingly enough, the beach experience was better than the Disney experience. I think that had more to do with the fact that WDW was the only thing I was interested in doing while living in Orlando and that got old. I needed more variety in my life and Tampa Bay has more variety.

The culture is the biggest issue for me when it comes to living in Florida. In Tampa, you have snowbirds who come down from the midwest, northeast, and Canada for 6 months or less in the winter to get away from the cold. In Orlando, you have a revolving door of tourists so most of the people you run into are talking about Ohio, Michigan, New Jersey, Virginia, and Maryland, etc. And the locals aren’t any different. Talk about feeling like a fish out of water.

Generally speaking, the first question people will ask is, “Where are you from?” desperately searching for familiar people from home – they’re not the only ones feeling like a fish out of water. But then they lose interest in you when you don’t say, “Ohio, Michigan, Indiana, etc.” Because when they hear you’re from California, they have nothing more to say to you – and you to them. You don’t have a common background, a common experience, a common point of reference. You’re speaking the same language, but you mean different things – you think differently – and it can be subtle. It feels lonely, after awhile. And no wonder we moved on from Tampa to Orlando – at least there we had Disney in common.

Now here’s the biggest difference between California and Florida – people who move to California are coming for a reason – a new life – a new opportunity – eager to leave their past behind. People who move to Florida are mostly getting away from the snow or they see it as a place to retire -  they bring their identities with them and wear them on their shirts, on their lawns, or anywhere they can to feel at home. It’s a different mindset, and, therefore, a different experience.

I grew up in Orange County, California and a majority of the people who settled there came from the midwest, but you’d never know that unless you got around to talking about that – it’s not the first thing you find out about someone – they’ve become Californians. So I was quite surprised that in Florida, very few people become Floridians. Even we called ourselves “Cali-Floridians.” After a hurricane, I remember reading about one community who actually pulled together as Floridians and somebody commented on how unusual that was in Florida.

So, unless life throws us a curve that leads us otherwise, I’m going to assume we’re staying here, out west where we feel the most at home. It’s time to let Florida go.

It’s also time to let go of the manuscript I’ve been writing and rewriting for the past couple of years. I drank a glass or two of wine last night saying good-bye to Lucky. I’m also taking a “plot via motivation” class this month, hoping to get a handle on my next manuscript, to see if I can nail this part a bit better. And then, watch out. I may just have my next published book.

We hear a lot about calling in relation to a spiritual calling, as in a calling to be a pastor or a calling to be a priest. But we are all called to do something specific – whether to be a mother or a plumber. Deciphering the call is a bit trickier, especially, a creative calling, I think.

We have a new priest at church, and we just love him. For one thing, he didn’t become a priest until later in life – I don’t know his exact age – but he was ordained just six months ago. My best guess is that he’s in his late 30s/early 40s. And as I sat there Saturday night at vigil mass, I began to think about my calling. Am I called to be a writer? I’m not sure. I think so, but how do I know? I’ve been giving this a lot of thought lately.

If I’m not, I could so give it up – I wouldn’t miss the downside of being a writer – of pursuing publication. It takes a lot of work to get a book right, and, even then, you don’t know if somebody in a position to sell it or buy it will love it. I hear some of the silliest reasons given for rejecting a book – very subjective – more than it should be, I think. Names came be changed, tweaks can be made to a story that may not be believable to one person. Obviously, that can’t be the real reason for the rejection – and I’m not talking about my own rejections – I’m talking about what I hear “out there.”

I could give up all of this putting myself “out there,” exposing myself, networking with people who only want to sell themselves, who aren’t there to support me, even though I try to support them – as a peer should – not as a customer. I could give up all of the odd connections you make “out there” with people who misunderstand you, criticize you, ignore you, reject you, or passively-aggressively attack you out of some misplaced jealousy or just because they imagine they dislike you.

I could so pursue creativity in a different way. If I’m not meant to be a writer, I could use my gifts through music at church, connect with people there, help out with the RCIA program, and never get online again, risking opening myself up to the weirdness that happens through the internet, just because we’re not meeting face-to-face. I could feel peaceful minding my own business, going to work, to church, and spending time with my husband, cats, friends, and family. If I’m meant to give it up. What a relief!

But suppose I’m not meant to give it up? I must get quiet, listen carefully, discern the call. All along this path to creativity I’ve had moments when I was tempted to just give it up writing novels in hopes of publication. And so I get quiet and pray and listen. And always, somebody comes along about that time and says just the right thing to tell me to keep going, keep pursuing, keep writing.

So this morning, fantasizing about what my life would look like if I just stopped writing, my google alerts alerted me that my novel, Real Women Wear Red, is being featured online in India and that my book is also available in United Arab Emirates, Australia, Belgium, Bahrain, Switzerland, China, Germany, Spain, Finland, France, Hong Kong, Indonesia, India, Japan, Kenya, Kuwait, Sri Lanka, Malaysia, Netherlands, New Zealand, Russia, Saudi Arabia, Singapore, Thailand, South Africa.

And that just made me smile. And I’m thinking I’m meant to write another day.  


PS – What I’ve been remiss in saying is that all the wonderfully supportive people I have met online make it all worthwhile and I thank all of you for being your wonderful selves.