Choices

Like many people, these last 20 months have taken their toll on my general well-being. My body hurts in odd places for no apparent reason. I dwell on all the things I’ve not been able to do because of the pandemic, grieving over the two lost summers of travel with my boys who will soon be too old to take family trips–maybe they already are. My favorite time of the day tends to be around 9:30 p.m. when it’s late enough I can get into bed and kid myself it’s because I’m tired, not because I have nothing else to do. I’ve been feeling my heart get heavier, my optimism stuttering, and John Cougar Mellencamp’s lyrics too often in my head, “Oh ya, life goes on, long after the thrill, of living is gone.” (No, I am not, and was not a Mellencamp fan, but you can’t have grown up in the 80’s in America and not known this song.)

I don’t know if it’s just prolonged trauma that has had me wallowing in grief, melancholy and general despondency, focusing on things that I’ve lost or don’t have, instead of recognizing and lifting up the things that I do. But today instead of reading the New York Times or Politico, which only adds to my angst and depression, I watched multiple TED talks on gratitude. This was prompted–no joke–by a wellness newsletter from my health insurance that was all about cultivating a gratitude practice.

Now, I’m no stranger to the studies done on gratitude practice, meditation, or mindfulness, and yet I’ve not been practicing these things with any consistency for years. But, just watching others express their gratitude and talk about the power it has to make us happy, lifted my spirits. I wasn’t even the one doing the gratitude practice–it was gratitude by proxy! And after dinner tonight, I didn’t have that dull lethargy that I often feel when the long hours of evening (damn you Day Light Savings Time!) are staring me down. Even when the boys were wrestling and banging around this evening and the dog started her insane barking at their antics, I actually thought–“I’m so glad I have these two teenage creatures in my house to entertain me, even if they do put a hole in the wall,” rather than “Oh God, someone save me from this madhouse!”

I guess what I’m getting at, which is absolutely no revelation at all, is that I need to choose not to focus on the deficits in my life. I can make an active choice to recognize the assets and give them a shout out, particularly when that sluggish swamp monster of despair is threatening to drag me down in the mire to join him in a misery-party.

So, on that note, let me begin my practice of actively recognizing a handful of things for which I’m grateful. I won’t say I’ll do it every day because, hey, I don’t need to add that kind of pressure to my already fragile emotional state. But I’m going to do it often (though don’t worry, dear reader, I won’t subject you to it on my blog besides today).

I’m grateful for:

  • My loud, playful, sometimes smelly teenage boys who are really awesome people who I get to spend time with every day;
  • My house, which is cozy, comfortable, and in a neighborhood where I can go out on my lunch hour and have a lovely, long walk filled with blazing orange and red trees;
  • Burrito Boy’s drive-thru where we picked up dinner tonight after our preferred Mexican restaurant was closed. Their habanero salsa is stellar and their massive burritos almost fill up my 14 year-old man-child (though he did eat the other half of my taco salad tonight too).
The Golden Burrito–yes, it has french fries in it

Oh, and to help on my path to recovered happiness and optimism, I vow to stop reading/listening to the news. Instead, I will listen exclusively to my boyfriends on the Smartless podcast. Jason Bateman, if you ever read this, I love you! (Sorry Will, you are a close second.)

Really long books

Alright, my novel is getting too long. I have to face it that at 200K words it should be done and over with, but I can’t seem to get to the end. There’s just too much for the characters to endure before it’s all over. The result is, then, that I either have a ridiculously long book that would weigh more than a toddler once it’s done, or I have to divide it up and make it two, or even three books.

You know, in this digital age, I guess I don’t need to worry about a massive tome throwing someone’s shoulder out of joint. I should probably stop worrying about how long it is and start worrying about how I’m going to get Sprout and Cliri to meet back up again when they seem to be in different dimensions, bring Boun back from the dead, and get Ceara and Sprout to reunite and declare their love for each other, preferably all under 30,000 words or so.

Sigh.

beautiful paintings about books
Fantastic Work by Andre Martins de Barros

Should an author kill a main character?

I’m sure those that managed to slog their way through the novels Game of Thrones (or more likely enjoyed the cinematic version in all its bloody, lusty, much more engaging glory) are familiar with the notion of an author killing off one (or countless) main characters. But I am struggling with letting one of my characters who is important to the story, to the other characters in the book, and presumably to my readers, die.

Mary Read killing her antagonist cph.3a00980.jpg

Illus. in: The Pirates Own Book, 1842

I’m so torn by this, that I haven’t actually made my mind up yet if he’s dead. His wife thinks he’s dead. The people who saw him dragged off by a wild beast into the forest after being run-through with a sword think he’s dead. But there’s a chance, just a chance, that he simply has amnesia and that’s why he’s been missing for nine months. Hey, I even believe that’s a possibility, and I’m the one who had him mauled by a beast from some other dimension or something. (Truth be told, I don’t even know for sure what these creatures are, or where they came from, or why they hauled this character off into the woods so we’d all assume he was dead–I hope I figure it out before the end of the book.)

Is it better to kill off a character so that the survivors can learn to deal with the pain, or is it too much for the reader to lose someone they’ve grown attached to? How do you feel when an author kills a character you love?

Scene on a Grave, 1859 by Vasily Grigoryevich Perov (1833-1882, Russia)

 

 

 

Dreams of Running Released

Absoulte final front

My newest novel, Dreams of Running, is now available in paperback and e-book. I’m glad to see it finally on the shelves. It was a long time coming.

It’s a good thing I completed all the editing and final bits before I discovered Masterpieces’s, Poldark, otherwise I might never have gotten it finished. Though I have NOT been binge watching (I like to drag out the pleasure of a good story, rather than wolf it down without tasting it fully), I have to say that I have been spending75e3fc0afff5179796d5ead9c3a20d4e.jpg a lot of time with the two main characters in the show, played by Aiden Turner and Eleanor Tomlinson. They are SO much fun to watch. I mean, just LOOK at them!

But now I’ve completed the last episode in season 3, and have to wait months before I can dive into 1700’s Cornwall again, so perhaps I should spend my time productively in front of my computer, working on the final edits of my next book, Shadow of Power.

Or maybe I’ll succumb to the draw of enjoying someone else’s art again, and start watching The Crown. Hey, don’t judge. It’s educational.