Ride ’em Cowboy

Well, here we are on Wednesday morning, and I’m awake and feeling okay, if a bit on the sneezy side. My coffee is wonderful and delightfully tasty. The humidity and heat aren’t as bad as they have been, which I am hoping means we are easing into fall–summer is over “officially” on the 21st, which is of course next week, but New Orleans weather doesn’t really follow the calendar three-months per season the way that weather does further north from here. I don’t mind the cooler weather (fall and spring are spectacular here), but we get a bit chilly here in the winter and am always grateful it doesn’t really last very long. It’ll probably snow this year/

I had a nice day at work yesterday, fairly productive all along and managed to get shit done, which is always a plus. I came straight home from work, fed His Majesty and wrote for awhile before collapsing into my chair for Sparky cuddle time, which is lasting longer and longer these days, with fewer moments of him turning into Apex Predator Attack Cat. He really is a dear, and I don’t mind the “attack cat” mode because he’s so cute, and I love it when he pounces because he always seems so proud of himself when he does. And is there anything like having a cat cuddled up to you, sleeping soundly, secure and safe? I do worry that he doesn’t seem to purr all that much–he usually only does when he’s feeling super-needy, or when he’s riding on my shoulders. He does love it up there.

Yeah, I am a childless cat dad for the Vice-President, and fucking proud of it.

I also managed to get 1600 words done last night fairly easily, which was nice, so I am now done with the transitional Chapter 5, which is an enormous relief and also nice to know I can take some down time whenever there’s some kind of interruption (hurricane, in this case) and get back into the book. I think working on the Bible when I couldn’t wrap my head around writing the book was a definite help and kept my head in the game. It’s kind of funny, really. I try to write 3000 words per day (on a writing day; I don’t work on the book every day), and it always seems like the first thousand takes so much longer than the last two, you know? It’s like pulling teeth, but once I get to a thousand, it gets easier. The last thousand is always the easiest, somehow, which is cool. I’d hoped to have the first draft finished by the end of the month, but that is certainly not going to happen. But again–no deadline, which is kind of heavenly, and I kind of like the lack of pressure. It all needs to be revised and rewritten, of course, but I know I am writing some sentences that are making me very pleased with myself–something I am embracing with both arms wide, frankly. My self-doubt and lack of faith in myself has been incredibly self-defeating, so I’ve decided to work on that as well. I don’t want to become an egomaniac, of course, but I also need to stop believing or anticipating criticism and trying to head it off by saying it about myself first. I don’t like every book I’ve read and there are definitely authors I will never read again, so it stands to reason that that would be true about me and my books for some people, and it’s okay for them to feel that way. I appreciate good criticism, the kind that makes me look at it from a different perspective and determine whether I accept said criticism or not; what I don’t appreciate is slams for being too gay or too political or not gay enough or not political enough; you cannot please everyone who reads your work, and you’ll go mad trying to do that, as it’s impossible. I also need to understand that I have no control over my sales, and low sales doesn’t mean the book isn’t any good nor is the writing (two of my favorite books of my own–for personal reasons–are also my two lowest selling, and some of the ones I am super proud of aren’t my biggest sellers, either). Part of the problem, of course, is my anxiety-based fear of not being liked–which comes from years of betrayals by people I thought were friends (but they weren’t) and my own naïveté; I always take people at face value and forget that people wear masks to fool others into thinking they’re decent human beings. I’m always afraid I am going to be ganged up on by bullies similar to the ones who made teens so fucking miserable, that I’ll be ostracized by a friend group because I’ve never really gotten over that first betrayal. But while I do think that fear is valid–it was definitely earned, for sure–it’s something I need to work through on my own and conquer. I don’t trust as easily as I used to, but I’ve become keenly aware over the years that just because someone seems nice and fun doesn’t mean they actually are.

But…I’ve often been amazed when people I really dislike considers me a friend. I may be polite, but if I never actually laugh or make a joke when I’m talking to you–I don’t like you.

And if you have a single bigoted thought in your head that is rooted in race, gender, or sexuality–you can be sure I don’t like you.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Wednesday, Constant Reader, and I’ll check in again either later or tomorrow morning.