It appears it’s possible for time to pass quickly and slowly simultaneously. The days tick by, but my time spent writing speeds through. And when I look at what I’ve written, I’m not content with my progress. At 2K words/day on my main project, I should be pleased. I’m adding to the story. The plot is moving along. Occasionally the dialogue is funny or spot on. But I can’t see the forest through the trees… my myopic view makes me feel like those 2K words aren’t enough, or good enough, to make it a story worth reading. No, I’m not a perfectionist. But I’ve been here before. Since this is the first novel I’m writing directly into the computer, I wonder how much of my forest-trees is because I don’t have the pen in my hand, and I’m not turning pages in my spiral.
On the day’s I’ve spent time with short story #2 and the first episode in my serial, I’m pleased that the muse changes the movie that shows on the screen. This is how I was able to finish 5 manuscripts back in 2017 (and doesn’t THAT seem like ages ago!). Yes, I’m typing them all directly into Word. No, I don’t get the stories confused.
My web designer and I are almost finished dismantling my old website. I figured out how to do a couple of tech things (which for me is a HUGE deal!). I’ve said good-bye to what the site represented. I’ve let go of the pieces of my business that didn’t work out how I hoped. I feel like making this move is like other parts of my life where I’ve gotten rid of the extra stuff, and I’m narrowing down where I spend my energy and what my priorities are. My writing friend refers to me letting go of the last 14 years as “moving on.” And maybe she’s right.
According to the calendar, there’s about 1 week left in June, which means I’m closing in on my 3-month plan shifting to a 2-month plan. I’ve gathered a little data, but was hoping for more. And maybe because I haven’t gotten it, that, too, is information. I haven’t heard anything about my first audiobook. It’s on my list to “finish” by the end of my planned time. There are other admin tasks on my list, but I don’t see where my calendar will open for them right now. Again, more information.
The arrival of rain in the desert after months of zero precipitation knocks a little dust off my bones, wets the streets, cleans the air. Like time, the storm clouds speed across the landscape dumping moisture, but it’s not enough. This time of year, clouds build with the promise of rain, but it often dissipates before quenching the thirst of the cactus. We’re never sure where it will rain or how much or when we’ll see the clouds again. The monsoons, like people and dreams, seem to always move on.