I really am good at going silent.
I think of things constantly that I could bring here, write about, poeticize, eulogize. But I don’t, because here’s the thing – I wrote a book.
More specifically, I wrote a book while living with an incurable chronic illness that’s slowly eroding away at my energy level. (I am not, as the mirror reminds me daily, 25 anymore.)
But I wrote a thing, and…I want it. I lust after this thing. I love it and I hate it. We have intense, passionate moments together, and major arguments, and times when we’re barely on speaking terms.
But I wrote a thing, and it’s done, but it’s nowhere near done. I have to let go of my first draft soon, and while I have no qualms about letting people peek into something so imperfect, I’m also desperate to make it better. It can be so much better. And all I want to do is dive in and not come up for air until I have to, take a breath, and go back under.
The story takes place on an island, based on an island I’ve been to. A place where I picked up seashells, which I’ve made jewelry out of, and wear obsessively for inspiration or maybe because I hope they’ll whisper something to me.
And because I have a manic attachment to this book – and to writing, in general – I tune everything else out, and go silent. I tend to hibernate with these things, curl up with them for a long time in caves and crevices and under the covers.
I’m learning that I don’t know how to not get lost in these story-worlds. I dismiss other thoughts, I reroute all of my energy into this Thing I’m Creating, I let it consume my thoughts.
So now I have a thing. I’m relieved, and actually quite excited to be able to start revisions. It’s validating, to watch things progress.
I’m taking September off to read and let my mind rest and before I dive back in. Maybe outline some new projects, maybe journal more. And hopefully be a bit less silent.
arningI don’t know how to not get lost in these story-worlds.