I have the house to myself this morning. That’s still somewhat of a novelty, both having a permanent home, and having complete run of it, though I trust I will get used to it in time, My window of time lasts as long as it takes for Housemate to get back from doing her thing at the laundromat. At that time, there will not only be another human in my space, but clean sheets (burgundy plaid, flannel, aka my perfect autumnal option) and clothing (definitely time for an overhaul there, as A) we wore most of our stuff a lot in the last year, B ) style evolution, and C) we live in New York, and we are coming up on winter in not too long at all.
That, though, is probably not why the majority (here is where I comically correct that to “both”) of readers are here, though, who knows, maybe so. Maybe this blog is a little bit about mental health, especially where it intersects with the writing process, since if there were a way to separate the two, I like to think I would have found it by now. Then again, I have times where I can set my cup down, turn around and then have no idea where the thing went, even though our apartment is not that big. I digress.
So. Writing. I am going for that. A good chunk of my relationship with my own writing, these day, can be best summed up as “Oh, there you are,” like opening the packing box labelled something like “kitchenware” and well, hello there, my favorite sweatshirt. Didn’t expect to find you here, specifically, but I sure as heck am slipping you on right away. Not quite warm from the dryer, but not smelling of mothballs, and maybe even a little bit bigger than remembered, but, all around, a much-welcome reunion.
Reading is not quite there yet. I did, however, inhale two Hulu series, both based on YA novels I had read and liked, both which turned out rather well, and one of which was actually a little better than the source. Maybe I should give Poldark or Outlander another look for the historical romance quotient. In the meantime, I have been poking my nose into books by favorite authors, and then poking right back out after a couple of pages. That’s okay. It will come. It always does.
Same with the whole planning thing. With a little more than one month left in the year, my reaction to planning this week, which does include a holiday, has been largely “ehhhh.” I am not firm on what format or size I want my 2021 planner to be, but I do know that I want one main planner, rather than an at home planner and then a mini version to put in my bag. I have started experimenting with making my own planner stickers, example below:
Using some of my favorite song lyrics and book quotes (I am beyond excited to be first in line for a hold on the newest Nina LaCour YA novel. No, I have no idea what it’s about; if her name is on the cover, I want it. Period.) feels a heck of a lot more exciting than and searching for stock images that catch the idea in my head feels like a super fun challenge, and is a good step toward getting exactly the planner stuff I want to have, even if I don’t know exactly what that looks like yet.
This ties in pretty well with my view on writing right now, so I’m going to stick with that. There is some confidently traipsing down familiar trails, and there is some splashing about in the shallows, sometimes in the shadows, but also in the moonlight. In the end, where this will lead is putting one foot in front of the other and hitting one key at a time, and then, one day, between sips of tea or bites of seasonally appropriate nibble, between kitty scritches or You Tube videos in the background, I will type “The End” and blink at the page, not entirely knowing how I got there, but glad that I did. After that? Next evolution.