It’s been… odd. I’ve been editing Willow for a couple of months now.
1) I can’t believe it’s taking me this long.
2) I can’t believe how bad my writing got while I was “Away From Writing As an Author” and why the hell I thought it was good enough to publish last October.
I’ve reread parts of Beth and Ash. Laughed my butt silly, especially with what’s been going on. Then… Willow. I wanted to turn the Novo series a little more serious, but damn. And long. Twice as long as Beth. I still need to trim 200 pages out. It’s been very slow going. I keep getting sucked into the book, which is good. But not. Very boring in parts. And I know I shouldn’t say that, being you know, the author and having a need to promote, not demote, my books.
Yesterday, I trimmed out 11 pages. Two or three words from sentences at a time. Brain dead by the time I was done.
I’m liking the changes, slow as they’ve been. Much more graphic about life in Taliville. Willow’s life. Coming up with more phrases used in the city. Tying in to both the first four books and the next four. I don’t want to slap Willow silly anymore. Not like I did when I went to publish in November.
I’m liking the change in direction for Ridge Lake. The war zone’s taking shape. I’m setting up for Hawthorne, next book, which is more than half written and very, very graphic. Tightening this novel up, I am rediscovering my sense of humor. Getting back in touch with actively defining. For those of you who don’t know what that is, it’s basically being scrupulously honest with the self. More than “hey, I want chocolate for dinner.”
I love my mother. Period. She and I didn’t agree on many aspects of life. It’s part of my story with Willow. There was a point, before Mom passed, that she began to understand. It did, unfortunately, come too late. I am grateful for the little bit she was able to come, to meet me halfway. That there was a glimmer of understanding that allowed her to accept massive differences in our personalities for the first time. Through all our difficulties, I never stopped loving her. Hated her, at times. But I always understood there were things about me that she could never understand because she hadn’t lived my life. I never walked away from her, not even when I had every reason in the world to do so. Because I love my mother. Period. And that was worth the hurt, anger, disappointment, and grief. By being honest with myself, understanding those decisions I made, it left the door open. When that day finally came, I remember standing in our kitchen, both of us bawling our eyes out, and I finally, finally felt like I had my mother back. It was one of the greatest gifts she ever gave me. It had nothing to do with her cancer. It had nothing to do with her dying, because we both knew her chance of survival was small. It had every thing to do with her love for me and my love for her. Period.
While many of you are having a hard time with what is going on right now, and this is not a snub, many have had to deal with these issues for years. There comes a point where you decide: this is not how I want to live. This is.
Kinda like how you don’t really want to piss off a 60 year old waitress from a 24-7 truck stop. She’s seen it all and has little tolerance for bs, but she’s still, somewhere deep inside, got a heart of gold.
It’s the same message I say every day. Live. Love. Breathe. Decide. Because living your life like you’re waiting to die isn’t living. Going balls out in the last week, sure, you’ve hit your bucket list. Because you know it’s the bucket list. Why not live life that way, before the bucket even has a chance to be seen? Love like you’ve got every dream still left in your heart. Dream as though you are fourteen, not eighty-seven. Tell the people you love that you love. Not from a disease or an ending. As a daily gift of pure energy. Connect. Wear the clothes you want. Go after the knowledge and education and profession you want. Because living like you’re waiting to die isn’t living.