But right now, no matter the idealism, it just doesn’t seem tenable to stand up and say: ‘Now I will really prioritize Creative Project A so I can show what I am made of and do this before I die’.
No, now is the time to be patient and chip away at this bit by bit and then plan for the future. If that is the wrong choice, so be it, and it is certainly a difficult choice. But I see no other way.
Just another day in parent-land, but fortunately that is also a land with many other green pastures.
But sometimes you have to go on an intuition, if you feel it strong enough. Even if there are many unanswered questions and will be for some time.
I suppose that finding the heart in this idea is the first step. That tends to motivate more to look for new ways to carve out time from a filled calendar.
But it is okay that I am not trying to be a novel author anymore. As I think I have written about extensively in earlier posts, I was mostly in that game for the wrong reasons despite having some good ideas and some of the right emotions – the right drive.
It is a long story and I really don’t care to reiterate it here and now, but suffice to say: Sometimes one can really feel no regrets.
Tried to take at least half the day off and rejuvenate my heart by writing a novella. But I was too tired inside.
The heart needs to rest first, I guess. Then it can open up again and rejuvenate by sharing what is in it.
I constantly surprise myself. I wanted to have more in common with Tolkien than Hemingway, but I always end up with Hemingway. Or Woolf. Or Dillard, I guess.
I don’t measure up to any of them, but we are talking about subject matter here, perhaps the only subject matter there truly is:
So I have bogged down and it has been stop-start for over a month, going slower and slower.
So today I had to drag myself back to it, if only to read like 5 pages and do the edits.
I guess that is what it is all about, what they all say … what being a writer is about.
I feel … really good about this story, and that it is finished now. I feel quickened (reference intended) in a way I haven’t felt for many years.
It was very strange to then just write and on the one hand feel relieved that I could and on the other feel a little sick about writing about the end of the world. But it was a crucial scene. In a crucial story, at least for me personally. So I guess that makes it overall the right outcome.
It’s good to remember that if I write every day on stories I love for the next 10 or 50 years … then making mental room and spending calendar time for and on that … is worth the most.
Worth a lot more, actually, than the money I might receive eventually for my efforts.
I want to make money by myself but in more joyful ways than I do now. It’s not about passive income over active income, although I once not so long ago deluded myself into believing that that was all it was about.
It’s about more joyful ways of making income. Of continually raising the bar.
That’s a new status quo worth fighting for. And one that might just this time make me keep fighting long enough until I get to it.