I may have been away from the blog, but I was still working on my manuscript, researching the next book, reading up on topics related to its themes and … well … thinking about stuff.
I admit to being a bit rusty today — I didn’t even get through a full chapter. I was really susceptible to distraction and procrastinating. But I did it. And that was one step to getting back to my new old normal. And that’s a milestone for me.
We don’t live the same anymore. We measure time in cases and bodies — yesterday the world crossed over a million positive tests; tomorrow, we may see ten thousand dead in America. We stay up as late as we want and sleep when our restless minds allow. We wake when we feel, or if duty compels, we make an effort to work our way through the day. We don’t live the same anymore.
I read one historian urge people to write down their impressions of this remarkable time that we’re going through, so for now, I’m going to repurpose this blog. I’m not able to do my research and rewriting and editing anyhow, so I’ll keep up on how life has changed and how, I hope, we’ll get back to some sort of workable normal. And sometime soon, I hope to get back to what I was working on. Because if nothing else, if this damned disease does come calling for me, I’d really hate to leave without finishing this project.
It’s not as easy as I had presumed.
I may not know why the caged bird sings. But I sure as hell know why the tethered goldfinch just sits there staring at you. He’s pleading for help. Because if he didn’t have that chain on his ankle, he’d be off flying in search of a plot.
I’m already itching to start writing the next one. Yes. I said it. There will be a second book in this series — I said it, a series. I’m thinking five books to do it right. Plus maybe extra books on the side for some of the characters. Who knows, maybe ten when all is said and done. The more I research, the more potential I see.
History doesn’t belong to any one person or group. There’s no single narrative to it. Everyone alive contributes their own kaleidoscope view to history, and each time we get a chance to glimpse another one of them, we get a truer picture of what history really is.
Learn to love criticism. The natural inclination can be to avoid it all costs, but that’s like avoiding going to the dentist: feels good now, but you set yourself up for decay down the road.
An old friend and I simultaneously reached the same conclusion this weekend. What we’re both
working on are really gothic historical fiction novels, not historical fiction/supernatural/fantasy/grasp-at-any-comparable-you-can-find kind of books.