Second week of 2017 underway over here. Well, underway everywhere, but I can only talk about my own experience. This was a full weekend, with volunteer training, domestic warrior queen duties, one of which reminded me why I do not do laundry on Sunday evenings. The alternative to Sunday evening laundry, in this case, was naked family. Since we live in New York, and it is January, outdoor nudity is not an option, so Sunday night laundry it was. I had my phone and my Kindle, and a couple of hours, more or less, to let my brain get things somewhat in order for the week ahead.
On Saturday, I had my (first) fierce cheerleading session with Eryka Peskin, which I would highly recommend. It’s kind of weird to have an appointment where the entire purpose is to have someone tell one how awesome one is and point out what one is doing right, and it’s kind of weird that it’s kind of weird. Yes, I did take notes, and yes, I did post them on the back of my office door, where I can see them any time I need a reminder. If I write something down longhand, it’s much more likely to stay in my noggin than if I try to remember without, or if I go directly to keyboard. I’ve been learning a lot more, lately, about how my brain works, and how going with that, rather than fighting it, is going to work better for me in the long (and short) term.
This morning, I got up at six, which is about right for me, still wiped from the weekend -I’d intended to use it to rest, but that is not what happened- and determined to get the most out of my day. There’s a ticking clock on one important task, that of my Her Last First Kiss second draft, the scene where Hero and his brother…well, we’ll save that for later. What matters is that I need to show these pages to N at 8AM tomorrow. I know myself well enough that I have to pump the handle a few times before thing start flowing, and I know that I’m going to have to get this draft done by about 3PM, because that’s when I can bribe Housemate to ferry me to the library to get things printed. I still haven’t figured out where the heck the printer is jammed, so printing on the road is how it is until we get that sorted.
One of the first things I did was jot down a list of tasks for the day, on a piece of grocery list paper, but that didn’t look right. It had all of the information, but the visuals? Meh. I can do better. I rescued a magenta softcover Markings notebook, with grid pages, from limbo, and laid out what has to get done today. Is this bullet journaling? Am I doing it already? I’ve tried reading explanations/instructions, but my eyes glaze over and/or I get confused. I’ve been doing whatever this is for a while now, and if a thing is on the list, the thing is going to get done.
I keep the office door propped open if it’s okay to talk to me. This was my view for a good chunk of the early morning:
Skye hates my office carpet. Hates it. I’m pretty sure she wants me to get rid of it, so she can come all the way into the room and sit next to my feet. There is one sliver of hardwood available for kitty bottom, when the door is open, and she has found a way to wedge herself into it. Normally, she’ll sit in the kitchen, on the linoleum, and stare at me until I get the message (that I should pay attention to her, not the glowy box or my papers) but, this morning, she crossed the line. Over the threshold and onto the hardwood. Not a single toe on the carpet. She has her standards.
The clock is ticking down now, and time approaches when it’s going to be me, Hero, and Hero’s Bro. There’s a small hand squeezing around my heart, with pointy fingernails, a whisper in my ear that this is scary stuff, but there’s also a list on my door of things that I am doing right, to remind me I’ve been here before, and I did it okay. More than okay. Awesome. No, I do not want to go out in sixteen degree weather to print pages, but N needs pages for tomorrow, and, more importantly, Hero needs this scene to get to second draft, so that’s what’s going to happen. I mean, I can’t leave him there in first draft land. Besides, when I get on the other side of this, I get to talk about what I’ve written, get feedback, and move on to the next scene. But, first, this. Clear the decks of the other tasks so there’s nothing cluttering my mind when it’s time to dive into century eighteen, and turn the metaphorical thumbscrews on Hero. He’s not going to like that, not one bit, but it has to be enough to send him out of everything he’s ever known, and on the path to his future. Kind of like the writing of same. At least I’m in good company.