It has been a long walk this year. Departing my old work roles, then starting a new one while stressing about both. Construction on our home for more than a month (hammering, sawing, dust, heat, etc.). Our A/C failed, then we had the entire A/C/Heat system replaced (expensive), all while my mother moved in with us, and I struggled with myself to adjust. Then just when I felt somewhat well adjusted (trigger events finally dampened down), she left for the summer to live with my brother and sister-in-law. Now I miss her being here.
Top all that off with me really diving into the 3D printer technology at the end of last year (2021), and it has been crazy. Not conducive to novel writing. So my current novel has suffered for it. Daily word count dropped, while I felt guilty and beat myself up about it.
So I’ve been going really slow, at least up to this point. But lately, I’ve been back in the saddle, being productive and working on the most difficult novel I’ve written so far.
It’s only difficult because the concepts I’m working with are difficult. The novel runs along a different timeline that eventually leads us back to where we began. A story that started as one thing, then quickly became another. I often wonder if I am writing the story or if the story is writing me. It’s hard to tell some days.
And that is ok.
Sanity is a relative thing. How you connect to the society you live in. Face values for those that need it, deep philosophical connections for those that don’t, then taking one single step at a time, being careful not to look down as you don’t want to lose your balance-An easy thing to do.
Currently, I am at the 30,000 words line and am shooting for 120,000 words total or more. The story is taking on its own life now. They often do around the 30K point. That’s when I start to feel like I am just along for the ride. And it’s a good feeling too. The characters think and act, often doing things that surprise me as I get to know them. It’s good either way, watching them grow, be trapped, sometimes to the death, then become something more than they were. Struggling, suffering, experiencing pleasure and pain, finding themselves only to lose everything else.
There are some new aliens. A fun group that distracts with scariness while making you wonder if that is all they are.
I love writing novels, not so much on the marketing parts and so on. I fact need to start converting my first six books in Audible for those lazy readers out there (I am one sometimes). I just haven’t found enough time to work an 8 to 5 job making the money I enjoy so much, writing early in the morning writing, then being a part of my family, enjoying my newfound 3D printing hobby, electronics/robotics hobbies, programming, and more. Frankly, it’s exhausting. I’m looking forward to the day when my only career is writing novels, and my hobbies are just fun things I do the rest of the time.
I’m fortunate. My wife (soon to be of four years) is simply a sweetheart. My mother now lives with us, and I get to experience her company in a way I have not as an adult. My wife’s kids are easy to get along with and just plain well-behaved kids. My three little dogs are the loving little creatures that live to be around us. I’m healthy, my mind is as creative as it’s ever been, and I acknowledge my core nature is one of anxiety. Knowing that makes life a lot easier and allows me to give myself perhaps some extra room when I need it.
Time to go; I have more writing to do. Always more. Maybe next time around, I will start much younger. Use all those hyperkinetic dreams for fuel.
Next time.
