I’m writing again. I had a bit of an epiphany on where I wanted to go with the Breathing Whisky universe and am roughly 15k words into the new novel. It’s going fairly well, with some hiccups, and friends are cheering me along. It’s hard, I’m coming out of one of the worst writing droughts of my life and, well, considering some of the doozies I’ve had before that’s saying something. I need the cheerleaders.
It’s also unexpectedly easy. There’ve been some issues – the last couple of days I was hit with such a bone-deep exhaustion that I could barely manage to get out of bed and being at the day job has been a struggle against falling asleep sitting at my desk. I know it’s the depression — I was actually doing quite well, but this hit me Sunday morning and it’s like trying to claw my way back up an oil-slickened wall of exhaustion.
It’s hard not to feel guilty sometimes. Hell, my mom’s dealing with near constant physical pain and lack of mobility, my coworker has fucking breast cancer, and here I am complaining that my brain weasels make me tired?
But even with and perhaps in spite of the exhaustion, the words are coming, though they’ve been somewhat slower the last couple of days. It hasn’t been amazing days of 3000 words appearing like magic, but more like 500 words that I manage to pull kicking and screaming from the ether, but the words are coming, by gods. They’re coming.
I’m also in the middle of re-reading Ursula LeGuin’s cycle, which I read and loved as a younger girl, but didn’t quite realize just how much other things I loved borrowed from those books. (I’m looking at you, .) It’s interesting to read them with a broader knowledge of fantasy fiction that came after it in mind, realizing how much influence Ursula LeGuin had on what came after.
So here’s to crossed fingers that I’ll actually be able to finish a thing for once, that the words keep coming no matter how much the brain weasels try to stopper the dam.