I can tell you what right now: Sparky wants treats! Nothing new there, of course, but to him it’s what he needs to start his day of being Apex Predator of the Lost Apartment, where no pen or bottle cap is safe, and he does his part to declutter by knocking everything to the floor. He really is a doll. I just wish he liked to cuddle more in the bed. He’ll sleep and cuddle with me in my easy chair–I think this imprinted on him after my surgery, when I slept in the chair for at least two weeks–but other than that? Nope. Even if you take him to the bed and curl up with him, he’ll wiggle out and go under the bed to protect us from whatever might come down the (blocked off) chimney. It was funny yesterday; I’d forgotten to reset the alarm (I’d set it to seven for Monday and forget to reset it back to six Monday night when I went to bed), but I woke up at five, knew what I’d done, and just kept waking up every twenty minutes or so. I finally got up without the alarm yesterday at six, and Sparky was so sound asleep he didn’t hear me get up! I was already downstairs, had cleaned my teeth and washed my face and was brewing coffee when he sleepily staggered into the kitchen with his eyes half-closed, and chirped half-heartedly.
Trust me, Sparky, I know the feeling well.
I was tired last night after work and making groceries, so I collapsed into my easy chair after writing over 900 words. It was a struggle to get those 900 words down, too, but it didn’t trigger one of those oh my God I can’t make the word count for the day and does this mean I am never going to be able to write again and I am going to be behind! You know what? It’s not the fucking end of the world. I wrote 2000 Monday and 900 yesterday. I’ve done over ten thousand since I started a week ago Sunday. Paul was also late getting home, so Sparky and I hung out in my easy chair and I watched the news before reading another magazine from the stack of them here at my desk. Once Paul was home, we watched the US Open for a while before I had to go to bed. It’s very exciting to have two US men in the semi-finals, which means an American in the finals for the first time in a very long time, which is kind of exciting.
We’re in a flash flood warning for the rest of the week (!) as we are supposed to get up to eight inches of rain or more over the next few days. The weekend is supposed to be neither super-hot or excessively humid and will “feel like” fall–so that could mean anything, really. 60s thru 80s, or somesuch. LSU plays Nicholls this weekend, which I am not wild about watching. They’ll either win by a lot and with ease, which is boring to watch (and I inevitably feel bad for the other team) or it’s disappointing because LSU played badly. I’ll probably give in and watch, but will read while I do. I feel pretty good this morning–it was a bit of a struggle to get up, frankly–but it should be a good day as the coffee is kicking in and I am feeling more awake with every moment.
I hope to finish the chapter I started yesterday today; I am having fun with the book even if it is more complicated and tricky than usual (I am trying something challenging); and I am hoping the more I am able to flex my writing muscles and write more and get more into the habit of it my productivity might go up as well. I have all these essays I’ve started over the last year or so that I need to finish, and I also need to write something for the Substack; I don’t think I posted anything last week and if I want to be a professional and grow it as a marketing tool for my writing, I need to be more…regular with it. I can’t blog and write a newsletter essay every damned day, but I can write a blog entry every day and write a newsletter essay every week, even while writing a book. I can feel that I am also starting, from time to time, to get a little anxious about being so far behind on all my writing. I would like to get all of these in-progress stories and essays finished by the end of the year, but am also aware that’s a very ambitious program. I mean, it is possible, of course; everything is, but it may not be realistic. Then again I seem to be past anxiety and stress (yay correct medications!) but I am also finding that I no longer need anxiety and stress to write, which is absolutely lovely. Yes, I did worry a bit about that when my creativity was fallow, and yes, I feel much better about everything in general. It’s amazing what a difference actually writing and creating does for my mind.
But it does, and that’s just a fact. Nothing makes me more aware that I am meant to be a writer than how much better writing makes me feel. It’s also nice to be enjoying it; it feels like I’ve not really had the opportunity in a very long time to savor and enjoy the entire process, and it’s really terrific to rediscover my joy at being a creative. After almost thirty years of being paid to write, I’m finally in a place where I can just kind of enjoy myself and appreciate it more and maybe, just maybe, I’ll even be able to do more promotion when the next one comes out than I’ve been doing for about a decade.
And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines for the day. Have a good Wednesday, Constant Reader, and remember that we’re on the downward slide into the weekend now!
Queer and Loathing in America 