It’s hard to think about much when the world’s falling apart.
I’ve managed to avoid it, hiding behind a busy day with the girls, burying myself in reading that book list, but beneath it all, thinking about pitching a fantasy book seems rather futile in times like this.
This has been a week of self-doubting. It hasn’t helped that I’m reading a really great book where the character’s relationships are thick and SO deep and tangled. Where is that confident woman of two months ago that was ready to take on the world?
The world as changed, and I’m not sure where I fit.
I know I’m overthinking things. It’s a mood I’m familiar with, especially in those spiraling times. It doesn’t help that I’ve been pouring over how to simplify my manuscript into a pitch or a synopsis, cutting out side stories and background. I know what I’ve written is thick with the ephemeral movement of the soul. It’s just not in the same chords as the soul that’s gushing out like an exploded pustular all over the planet. It isn’t.
I feel callous writing about my writing right now, but realize I’m just trying to figure out how to focus on moving forward. This probably belongs in a journal, not on a website, but writing this is forcing me to think about writing.
Things to be thankful for:
- Nobody in my immediate love bubble has the coronovirus.
- My girls are happy and thriving. (As are my cats. They love it that we’re home all the time to let them in and out of the house.)
- I have a home with a yard and a beautiful neighborhood.
- My youngest has matured considerably, and she likes brown rice.
- Eventually, that dog will stop barking.
- It is Spring.
