What have I learned?

When I finished writing my first manuscript, it didn't occur to me that it would take so ridiculously long for me to repeat such a feat. Hell, I could probably start knocking two or three of these out a year. 

Ugh. Just... ugh. 

Because in reality, I probably could have. Or at least one a year. You get the idea. Explanations, excuses, blah blah blah. But I didn't. Regardless of reasons, I didn't. That's the bottom line. 

So now I find myself nearing a wrapping up point on my first large-scale world building exercise. Otherwise known as the on-again-off-again project I've been working on for the past few years. 

And this is so much less smoothly done as the first go 'round at writing a book start to finish, even ignoring the time spent on it. Because my first manuscript? Written in less than a year - probably a matter of months. I've already mentioned how long I've been working on this patchwork mess. 

The first time, I learned I could do this. I could follow an idea through from blank page to The End. An important lesson to quell the nagging voices in the back of my head that I could not. Commercially viable or locked forever away, it was possible. But it was possible mostly in a vacuum. The demands on my time then were such that I could literally write all night, sleep during the morning and get up in the afternoon to handle whatever daily life needed to be attended before returning back to my private space for another writing marathon. 

I need a cigarette just thinking about it, and I don't even smoke.

The first time around, a much more straightforward and less fantastical story was written in simple linear, streamlined order without having to worry too much. This time? About halfway through I realized I'd left out an important theme. And despite a good friend's suggestion that there are no accidents, this leaves a gaping hole that must be addressed in rewrites. 

And that's okay. Or I realized it was after the initial WHAT-HAVE-I-DONE panic subsided. 

Because perhaps the overriding message I'll end up taking away from this writing experience (after relearning I can still do this) is damage control - or more nicely put - how to keep going when it's gone off the rails. 

And world building? I suspect with a decent rewrite period and solid edits, won't come across as nail biting as it felt fleshing out at the time. Which is another great reminder - it all sucks to begin with anyway. Unless you've written 50 published novels (or maybe this persists anyway), it all starts out as something that needs to be refined and edited to get it polished. There may be writers out there who get it right the first time, but I'm okay not being one of them. Or rather, I'm making my peace with it.

I had a bit of an artistic meltdown last night, crippling doubt over capability, quality, and the like. My husband, not exactly known for his empathetic skills, rose to the occasion as I confessed that there isn't anything special about me. 

"Of course there is."

"You think I'm special because I take care of you. It's not the same."

He stared at me silently for some time, which generally means he doesn't really have anything else to add to the conversation. To my surprise this was not the case.

"I know you're special. You are not a little fish in a big pond like you think."

"You're just saying that because you dream of me being a bestseller so you can be a kept man." This is a running joke as old as our marriage. 

"That's not it. I know you're special. All the people you've known in your adult life have made you feel like a small fish because of their issues. You may not be the big fish in your writing right now, but it's coming. I know it."

What else have I learned? That my husband is long overdue for me to bake him his favorite cookie. And that he's pretty damned awesome. I knew that anyway, but it's a hell of a reminder.

I already knew I was needy, so there's no big reveal there. By default, most writers tend to be. Some of us just try to keep quiet about it to give the illusion of being collected. Or because I'm embarrassed. 

I continue to learn that I still have work to do. I'm not at a point where I can just regurgitate what's in my brain up and onto the page with little muss or fuss. Or angst. 

And now that I'm nearing the end of this first world building business, I think it's time to try reading a few book series that take world building and turn them into 1,000 page monsters a piece. Because I just know that I've got something a little bit bigger, a little bit grander than the typical 300-ish page books lurking deep within me. Don't get me wrong, I've got more of those in my depths that I could tackle. But I also have a wild hair pushing me to get into something completely engulfing. 

 

Calendars and 2016 Musings

One of the last things I do at the end of the year is go calendar shopping. Or, depending on how late I'm running or how much of a discount I'm itching to get, sometimes it's one of the first things I do in a new year. I'm flexible. Regardless, it's calendar season at my house. That time of year when you crawl over hordes of people crammed into the smallest area a bookstore could think to put up the display or, for the adventurous types, when you avoid eye contact with the sometimes shifty-looking employees of the pop-up calendar & toy store at the local mall.

He doesn't know why you can buy a board game and matching calendar either.

For the person of a thousand and one interests *cough* like me, calendar shopping can be a little much. Is this the year I get landscapes of any one of the countries I adore? Something funny instead? OMG-look-at-all-the-cute-puppies!!! Something literary and witty? BUNNIES! Dark and spooky? Choice overload. The last few years I've opted for zen and/or positive quotes with equally soothing (or whatever) simple images. I'm not sure they did much for me, so maybe it's time to go a little madcap and silly.

And speaking of the year coming to a close...

I don't necessarily think 2016 has been the worst year. But for many people I know, it's certainly been a dark and difficult year. We've had a tribulation or two here as well. And the seemingly endless culling of so many public figures took a toll on hope and spirits everywhere. It started with a roundhouse kick to the head and ended that way, too. From David Bowie & Alan Rickman all the way through to George Michael, Carrie Fisher & Debbie Reynolds. I stopped being able to articulate what some of these people meant to me, what their careers or their activism inspired and encouraged, before the second quarter of the year. With this (hopefully last round) starting at Christmas, I was quite ill and too sick to register the full impact of their passings.

With all that in mind, I present what 2016 was for me personally.

2016 is the year:

• I got annual passes to the mouse's house. Childhood dream unlocked.
• My cousin came to visit and I made my grandpa's sauce recipe.
• My friends and I explored new activities and places. 
• My dog died.
• My husband was officially diagnosed with autism.
• I avoided being hospitalized by sheer stubbornness.
• I became a trusted confidant in my oldest nibling's life. 
• I learned something new about how to treat my PCOS that almost 20 years of doctors never mentioned before. 
• I went to a funeral for a friend for the first time.
• I finally got my ass back to the doctor after putting it off for too long. 
• I learned how to unclog a garbage disposal on my own.
• I learned how to make salisbury steaks, soups, couscous & more.
• I caught up on classic literature I missed in high school & college. 
• I began refreshing my foreign language skills & inspired my dad to do the same.
• I survived. Every thing I stressed over, every moment I wasn't sure I could handle, every time I thought I might break in the year, I made it through. I've laughed and cried with family and friends. I had food in my pantry and on my table. A roof over my head, hurricane or shine. I have memories of those who are no longer here. For every worry or moment of uncertainty, there is hope.

Happy New Year to you & yours!