9.15.23 Wild Pondering…
Fall will be flying in soon. As I sit here writing this I am in marvel as to how it has already become the middle of September. Sometimes I feel like time has sped up. There are things that I told myself I’d get to accomplish this summer around the condo, which of course did not happen.
Summer was epic. It was a much needed break from my overscheduled existence. I connected with many friends that I hadn’t seen in a while. I was able to travel to New Orleans, my spirit city with my mother. I was also able to travel to Jamaica for a long overdue girls’ vacation.
This summer I also began writing another book.
This new character is unlike me. I mean so much unlike me. I tried to hide her away from me, but she won’t have it. There will be times when I am working on something, drinking hot tea at my dining room table, and there she is, standing in the back of the room. I can see her staring at me disapprovingly. She’s mad. She wants attention. I get it. Finally, I give in and I flesh her out a little more in my mind. I add more personality traits. I delete scenarios and rewrite them.
There are layers unpeeling of myself that occur when I write. Many areas in my life go under scrutiny. IThere is a murkier side of me that takes over for a while. Things and people become hazy to me. That’s why sometimes I’ll disappear for a little while, engrossed in typos and plot revisions. Then the self therapy kicks in as I think about my life and what I want it to be.
What works? What doesn’t? What needs to go? Who works? Who doesn’t? Who do I need to have a difficult conversation with so that they can stay? What can I control? What is out of my control? What do I need patience with, and what is a massive waste of time? What have I healed from, and what still hurts like a bitch? Are there areas in my life where I’m not being authentic, and if so why?
The writing process for me is a sort of pause: a reflection and progression simultaneously. Half of my brain falls into a stupor, often feeling like one does when they are about to fall asleep during a long rain storm. The other half of me springs into autopilot, operating and completing the day’s duties with efficiency, but knowing that I am not fully present mentally and spiritually. I don’t push or put too much pressure on myself to get my agenda done in the other realms of life. I let the words literally just take over. I have subscribed myself to the belief that I’ll never really get it all figured out. I know I won’t. I’m okay with that.
And when I am done with this book I will sit down at my dining room table, drink a hot cup of tea, and watch my character stare at me again from the corner of the room. I will be relieved and elated. I don’t know what her reaction will be. It’s a 50/50 shot. She could smile and nod at me in a well done, see ya later sort of way and saunter into dissipation. Or she could fold her arms, turn her nose up, and stand there stoically, because she knows that she’s not done with me yet.
Until next time, stay dreadful my friends.