Days of
I don't keep physical lists of things I need to do. Rather, I keep mental lists that I obsess over continuously. I moved recently, and going from apartment to apartment, there's a lot to do, a lot of ends and beginnings. Internet and utilities, account numbers and ending balances. Changes of address. I didn't have the internet for a few weeks, and not for a lack of trying. I learned a lot about modems and MAC numbers and networking and customer service. From my one favorite chair, I toured the world as I was transferred again and again. I felt bad for the people who had to read me scripts about how much they cared about my problems and couldn't use their real names.
All of it was a great opportunity to put things off. I haven't written on the new novel, and difficulties in the lives of my editor and my illustrator ground the publishing to a halt as well. I took a cue from their situations and stopped working myself. Work picked up along with the summer heat and... yadda yadda yadda.
This week I got back on it though. I contrived a list of errands to get done, to finally get free of my old living situation, paying the final bills, handing over money for closing costs, and giving back the cable box to my internet service provider. "Did you want to look into streaming?" and "Was there a problem?" and "Did you want to upgrade?" It felt good to say no, to vocalize, out loud, that I didn't have the time. The last few months have been integral to revealing that last fact. Some time ago, I got into the habit of selling my collectibles, out of need, but it turned into a want, even after I was out of the hole. An older me was holding onto the things of a younger me, and the only reason I could conjure was so that I could move them to a new place and let them collect new dust. The thought that I could convert those old dreams into new aspirations was a pleasing one. I haven't looked back yet. I am willfully engaged in the process of transforming my free time and resources into the things that I want and it feels good, even when it also feels bad.
So, I have this email that says that my book is on its way to a variety of distributors. It's something to be excited about, but not to the exclusion of patience. This is only the very first step, and it took me a while to even get to this point. The next cover art conversation needs to happen, that work done. The editing, the formatting, the rinsing the repeating. There's no movement, not exactly, but there is a feeling, a sound, that things somewhere are being shaken loose. It's the perfect time to take a break and grow complacent.
In what feels like a lifetime ago now, I learned that holiday is a painting term meaning a missed spot, where previous layers show through. They are things that have no place in a job well done.
All of it was a great opportunity to put things off. I haven't written on the new novel, and difficulties in the lives of my editor and my illustrator ground the publishing to a halt as well. I took a cue from their situations and stopped working myself. Work picked up along with the summer heat and... yadda yadda yadda.
This week I got back on it though. I contrived a list of errands to get done, to finally get free of my old living situation, paying the final bills, handing over money for closing costs, and giving back the cable box to my internet service provider. "Did you want to look into streaming?" and "Was there a problem?" and "Did you want to upgrade?" It felt good to say no, to vocalize, out loud, that I didn't have the time. The last few months have been integral to revealing that last fact. Some time ago, I got into the habit of selling my collectibles, out of need, but it turned into a want, even after I was out of the hole. An older me was holding onto the things of a younger me, and the only reason I could conjure was so that I could move them to a new place and let them collect new dust. The thought that I could convert those old dreams into new aspirations was a pleasing one. I haven't looked back yet. I am willfully engaged in the process of transforming my free time and resources into the things that I want and it feels good, even when it also feels bad.
So, I have this email that says that my book is on its way to a variety of distributors. It's something to be excited about, but not to the exclusion of patience. This is only the very first step, and it took me a while to even get to this point. The next cover art conversation needs to happen, that work done. The editing, the formatting, the rinsing the repeating. There's no movement, not exactly, but there is a feeling, a sound, that things somewhere are being shaken loose. It's the perfect time to take a break and grow complacent.
In what feels like a lifetime ago now, I learned that holiday is a painting term meaning a missed spot, where previous layers show through. They are things that have no place in a job well done.
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