What with all the moving around and getting sorted out, I haven’t done much writing. And I also haven’t been terribly interested in reading. I also, for the first time in a long time, don’t have a big new project on the horizon. In fact, if I was to start a novel now, I don’t even know what it’d be. I actually have an idea for a young adult novel that’s been simmering for about a year (it’s about really rich gay kids) but with all my contract stuff still being sorted out, I’m not sure if it makes sense for me to write a book that might not, potentially, come out for another three and a half years.
I dunno. Anyway, I have so much stuff that I need to revise.
But I do have the persistent feeling that right now is the calm before the storm. Eventually, my edit letter will come in, and then it’ll be rush rush rush to turn in edits and then to revise / edit / finish the second book in my contract.
So I feel like I should use this time productively. Which is what I’m going to do. Err…starting tomorrow.
I need stability in order to work. I was actually weirdly productive in New Orleans. In some ways, I felt much more settled there than I do right now. I didn’t have any friends, so my social life was very orderly (I just went to Meetup groups). And I had my gym and sometimes I’d go to a new restaurant. But mostly I was in my room, and I had plenty of time to work.
Now I feel very dislocated. There’s much more of a sense of possibility. I lived a life here once, but the life I live now will be different from that one.
If I’ve learned anything, though, it’s that I eventually settle into a routine. And when I’m in the routine, it feels so natural and fluid and eternal. And then something comes along and destroys it. And when I have to pick up the pieces, it always feels like I’m cranking up a big, heavy machine again. There’s no slipping into and out of the routine. Either I’m in it or I’m nowhere.