Coming home again was different this time. Of course, I didn't exactly have a "home" in the States any longer, nor did I have one yet in Slovenia. I wasn't exactly a woman without a country but I was certainly a woman without a place of her own.
One of my favorite writers, Virginia Woolf, wrote that for a woman to be a writer, she needs financial means and a room of her own. Having neither of those items, I wondered how I would ever be able to focus on writing. Years ago, when I had left my well-paying job at the hospital to re-open my agency and be the general contractor on the construction of my house, I had planned to spend part of my time writing. I don't mean just writing client website and brochure copy, or simply taking the time to record daily progress in my construction journal. I wanted to start writing the great American novel. Well, who doesn't? More important, who actually ever does? It's really an unattainable goal for us mere mortals. But if you don't set your sights high, what's the use?
I started writing numerous things but nothing I felt like finishing. Blame it on writer's block, lack of talent or the fact that nothing I started would go anywhere under its own power. But after years of spousal betrayal, all I had to show for my writing career were three journals of private pain and humiliation mixed with factual documentation of infidelity. Not exactly the writing I had planned to create. From time to time, I would actually start writing something. Then, I would move on to something entirely different. I was searching for a genre, a style, a story I could tell. I still hadn't found it. Like most would-be writers, I was searching for a muse.
My guess is that most people entertain romantic notions about writers who just sit down, churn out a novel and get paid some fabulous amount of money which allows them to take a month-long vacation. The fact is that successful writing is a disciplined endeavor; a writer writes every day. Ernest Hemingway is remembered not only for his talent as a storyteller but as a heavy drinker and a womanizer. All are true. But what most people don't know is that he stood (yes, stood) at his typewriter every day from dawn until at least noon, writing. Writing is a passion and a talent but it's also work, make no mistake about it. I still hadn't found time in each day to write, and I certainly didn't have any when I returned to the States. My life was about to change drastically and I had much to do and not much time to do it.
I had taken a trip to Europe and returned an almost-homeowner. It was mid-July and by the end of October, God willing, I would be back in Slovenia to close on the sale and move into my "new" home, altering absolutely everything in my life. I would no longer be visiting Europe and living in my friend's house in Missouri. I would be living in Europe and visiting the U.S. What a concept for a Midwestern farm girl.
Between client deadlines, family visits and social engagements with numerous friends, I spent time researching ways to finance my new life. That part would be a tremendous challenge whether I was moving to Europe or to somewhere in the the States. When you have a mortgage, you sign a contract with a lender. My signature was affixed to a very large mortgage for a very large home here. The bank doesn't care whether two people are married or divorced. The court settlement specifies the division of all the stuff of your life among divorced couples, but the contract with the bank remains intact until the person who retains the property can re-negotiate the mortgage. Between my credit debt, my meager self-employment income and my name on an existing massive mortgage, I wouldn't be able to squeeze a dime out of any respective lending institution in the entire country. I would have to pursue alternative options and based on my research, I had three. First, win the lottery. Second option, find someone who would give me a private loan. Third, find someone who would co-sign a loan. The likelihood of the first option happening was nil since I don't play the lottery. I don't even bother with the Publisher's Clearinghouse sweepstakes. So, I moved on to the second option and actually had two friends who probably had the financial wherewithal to loan me the money, but not necessarily the inclination. Still, that was the best place to start.
Despite my current income limitations, I did have the assurance of receiving a specific amount of money every month from the ex for the property settlement he owed me. For that reason, I pitched the loan to my friends using that monthly settlement amount as the payment I could guarantee making on the loan. I had a plan and built a case that relied more on their generosity than on my actual credit-worthiness. They considered my proposal seriously because they wanted to help me rebuild my life but in the end, turned me down for their own financial concerns. They were entering retirement, were expecting their second and third grandchildren and the economy was in the proverbial toilet. Of course, I understood and was thankful for their friendship and moral support which I continue to receive from them.
Next, I turned to the angel-investor option. No one there would be motivated by my sad mid-life rebuilding story. It would be strictly business. I further developed my business plan and put it out on the appropriate websites but didn't receive any interest. I certainly wasn't surprised, but I kept trying every time I found a new site.
I was just about out of options. I even considered writing a tearful letter to Oprah to see if she would help. Then, I slapped myself in the face and told myself to wake up and come up with a realistic solution. Once again, I countered my depression with the fateful belief that perhaps it wasn't meant to be. If so, I had lost $13,000 on the attempt but to me, it was worth it. I had to shoot for the stars and if I didn't quite get there, at least I knew I had tried.
I continued to try to sell things to raise some of the money. After all, if I could reduce the balance due by $15,000 or so, maybe I could find a way to finance the rest. Had this all been occurring two years earlier, I probably would have sold everything for top value and found the financing. But with the economy in dire straits, I was lucky to find anything positive. I knew I wouldn't give up all hope until the actual October 31 deadline, but it was fading fast.
It was a friend who stepped up and bravely offered to co-sign a loan for me at a local bank. That meant she would put up the collateral and I would use my monthly settlement payment to repay the loan. When she first offered, I was still hoping to find another way -- a way I could do this "on my own." I continued to search with confidence boosted by the offer on the table.
Running Man (RM) was working in Spain until the end of September. The Count and Countess had graciously invited me to stay at their villa during RM's last days there. I wanted to see Spain, even if it would be very little on this trip, so I booked a flight to Barcelona for the last week of September. Our plan was to spend a couple of days in Spain, then make the long drive back to Slovenia. My hope was that I would return to open a bank account there, have the balance due on the house wired, then transfer it to Mr. M. If I didn't have the money by then, I would be going back to negate the contract and try to figure out the next move in my unsettled life.
Once again, I was running out of time. If all I needed was a room of my own, perhaps I should just be content with my friend's guest bedroom for the time being. But from there, I could only look out on a world I was familiar with. What I really wanted, no, needed in my life right now was a window with a view of a different world. I had found the house with the perfect window. I just didn't know if I would be the one looking out from it or not.
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