The work

I fell off again. I didn't get sick, or suffer any great personal tragedy. I was actually given more time to work, and with that time I managed to work even less. 

For the cover art, the artist assures me he is still working, though at this point I should probably reach out and make sure he's alright. In general, I like to think that my record for messaging people is much better than average, kind of the opposite of blogging. I sketched out the cover for book 6, even though I have no idea what I'd like book 5 to look like. I'm in the same place I was some years ago, when the 5th book was put out by the publisher and the problems of management finally took their toll. The impact of effective management has been a reoccurring theme that I am not happy with with organizations I associate with. 

For the writing, I finished edits on the 4th book, and started working on the 5th, when my momentum suffered the kind of setback and loss of momentum where I can't even remember when I stopped. In that lull, a new idea, a science fiction idea, reared up, grabbed hold and has been occupying much of my thinking time in the past month or so. It is the continuation of a short story I wrote last year, and in taking down notes, doing research, talking ideas out with people, could one day have legs. One of the most revealing elements was the exposure of another science fiction series I started (and then restarted). The concept was based in a premise of humanity fleeing a decrepit earth with none of the knowledge needed to maintain the bleeding edge technology of that future. I thought it was interesting, but I also wrote it that way out of fear. I was afraid that committing to the technological aspects of science fiction were beyond me, because of how little understanding I had of modern invention and innovation. This new story did not shy away from that. Nay, it could not be written without it. It was like I had grown and not even realized it. 

Which is what I hope is happening in other aspects of my life. The world is changing, and depending on what one means when one says "the world" it is changing despite not wanting to. And it is changing because its fundamental constituent parts are being forced to by circumstance. I have had conversations I never imagined having, hearing things I could not have imagined hearing. It is a bizarre time, and I am torn between feeling very strongly that change is uncomfortable and acknowledging very clearly that change is necessary for evolution. Overall, I feel like my hands are pushing against a dashboard, elbows locked, as I turn my head and close my eyes bracing for an impact that I can only speculate at. I don't know when it's coming, or how bad it will be. But the brakes have already locked. The squeal of the tires is in my ears. 

I had a long conversation with a friend and fellow writer, and it was another learning experience, because I made a statement with little prefacing or lead in, because the person was a friend and a fellow writer. I assumed that as my friend, we'd spent enough time together that they could translate my perspective into their own understanding, and as a fellow writer, I thought that we had very similar ideas about characterization and dialog and plot. The conversation wasn't supposed to be long; it wasn't even supposed to be a conversation. It turned into one because I had to explain what I meant, and it took a while. I felt like I had to go all the way back to the beginning before skipping back up the road where we started. Every now and again, more often recently, I am confronted with the idea that I don't have a common sight or conception. I'm looking at the same thing everyone else is looking at, but I have strange angles. 

That thought eventually led me to a place where I realized that while everyone has challenges, people have very different reactions to their challenges. Like obstacles in our paths, we might swerve erratically or smoothly dodge or barrel forward or lock up entirely. My hurdles are more like pit traps. When I engage them, they send me into spirals, because they are most usually evidence of my unworthiness or testaments to fresh failures. I have long practice at climbing up and out of such places, but I am even more highly trained in reacting to the obstacles by face-first swan diving. Unfortunately, I don't think becoming more adaptable will be a process that happens without my consent. This will be something I will have to impose willfully. I will have to look upon my shortcomings, things about myself that I hate, and encourage them, acknowledge them, and understanding them. 

I will have to internalize that just because I am not writing, does not mean I am not working.