Sunday! Sunday, sunny day, sun-filled day, sun may…
With a sky the color of robin’s eggs, snow melting everywhere, I can feel Spring coming. Time to get the seedling trays started; time to get the winter debris cleared from the edge of the lawn and the deck; time to take stock of things and plan out the next few weeks–those vital days where Summer’s activities get set on track by preparations made now.
Or maybe I’ll just take a walk and breathe the changing air.
Grandpa was a vegetable farmer, and after a season of what could only be called hibernation, he became a new man each Spring. Instead of sleeping past dawn and daydreaming into the pages of seed catalogs, he’d begin to wake up before the morning twilight had started seeping into the house and begin his day in the old chicken coop, preparing seed trays.
Perhaps a hundred future seedlings would be prepared before we had all woken and Grandma would be ready for him to bring her breakfast. Hot tea and rye toast with butter…
I’d be reading one of her Agatha Christie novels in bed, waiting until I’d been told it was time to get up, finally having the bedroom to myself because Noni, my great-grandmother, would have gotten up at six and be downstairs, watching her shows, making the room restful and dream-worthy.
I’d look the door to her huge walk-in closet blocked as it was by a big old chair and wonder why no one wanted to go in there. Was it like the door to the old kitchen in the back of the house, where Poppy had shot himself than live his life carrying around a dialysis bag? How was it that at Grandma and Grandpa’s house there were so many closed doors and secrets, so many places called “we don’t talk about that” or “hush, stop asking questions–you’ll hurt your Noni’s (or Grandma’s or Grandpa’s, etc.) feelings”?
It’s no wonder I grew up to love stories with layers upon layers of family secrets and mysteries.
And if I could write them with the power I felt and lived them as a child, I’d consider myself an accomplished writer, whether a single book sold or not.
And now that Spring is returning, I’m returning to those days… to mysteries that I know and understand now better, returning a bit to my childhood and seeing the layers for what they are.
Do I have the right to tell these stories?
There isn’t much new to report. The daily word count is maintaining its 800 word average, though I was intending to raise that bar to 1.5K last Sunday on my Facebook check-in post. Life intervened and said “Maybe next week, but not this one”. A good thing has started happening since my Wednesday post, though. The words involve less of me and more on stories–other people’s stories at the moment, but still my focus turns once again outward.
There has been very little editing done. I’m not sure what is happening with the person who wanted me to do a full-scale copy-edit of the book. I sent the first 3 chapters I’d finished reviewing only to find that the writer had decided to rewrite those chapters and most of the book as well, and that most of my edits no longer applied.
At the time I was trying to take an online editing course and felt really annoyed that I’d effectively wasted the time I had on the edits. I asked this writer to wait until the book was closer to submission before sending it to me again. Am I wrong to feel some relief that I’ve not heard back yet?
That’s not to the level I’d like. I need a bit more of a willpower boost–or at least a bit more accountability. The good thing about having an exercise partner is that shared responsibility of being there for someone on top of being there for myself. As someone who has lived my life feeling “I don’t deserve X”, I’ve almost never felt missed doing something if I felt I had to do it for someone else..
Social Media, Blogging, and other stuff
I’m trying to involve myself in more meaningful online activities as opposed to games. I don’t really enjoy the format of most sites, even if I’ve (slightly) increased my presence on Google+ and spent a bit more time commenting on Facebook and Twitter. As a result my email has suffered, and we won’t talk about my phone use… I haven’t gotten to hanging up on people who call, but I’m close.
On the other hand, piano practice is improving. I’m afraid I may never get the full dexterity of my left hand back the way I used to have it before the break. Things always feel a bit like they are asleep there now. They move, they do what I want, but it always feels like an effort. I think I may pick up the guitar and try working with that to help train the muscles again. Not looking forward to rebuilding my callouses…
It’s a start though. Changing one’s self is harder work than just slaving away at the same old things.
Don’t you agree?