The Me-est Me That Ever There Me’d?

Two days without using the folding chair, and my back pain is gone. I think we may have found the culprit. I put the monitor on top of a plastic shoe storage box (blush pink to match other desk things) and increased the font size, and now working at the computer is a lot more comfortable, which makes it possible to stay there longer, which makes doing things like sitting in front of the keyboard, blogging, editing, and transcribing, a whole lot easier. Also less painful and squinty. I can go for less painful and squinty. To be clear, that is less painful and less squinty, not less painful but still squinty or more squinty. Nobody wants any of that

Photo by Maria Gloss on

I’m not going to try and duplicate the vanished post here, because that one was straight off the cuff, due to my being insomnia’s chew toy for two days straight. That sort of thing irritates me anyway, and leads to overthinking, of which I have already done far too much for a lifetime. I don’t think -in fact, I know- I am not the only writer prone to this sort of thing. It’s more of an occupational hazard.

The kitchen chair with cushions thing isn’t permanent. We have one office chair in storage, and may potentially snag another one like the above, as I will need one chair for my computer desk and one for my secretary desk, an antique I have loved since I was two. I have said before that I have drooled over it since I was two, and before that drooled on it, as my parents got it before they got me. Fitting, I think that a historical romance writer do her longhand work on a relic from the past.

Fitting also that we are looking into a new laptop, because I also write (well, co-write, with the fabulously talented Melva Michaelian) contemporary romance and the days of typing manuscripts one page at a time and sending them off in manuscript boxes are long in the past.

There’s also the plans for the great stationery purge, which does not include chucking it all into the metaphorical sea, but making sure that I keep the stuff I love and use, and that it all looks like it belongs to the same person. Keeping things “on brand,” if you will, because things are moving forward and I have one of those, whether I know it or not, and knowing is the better option.

This week is the second week in a row that I have taken off from planning in my catchall classic planner.

Not that I don’t still love it, because I do, but because I am over the whole re-dating every single month and week and day. That’s not fun, that’s tedious, and I would rather use that time doing something that moves me forward. Which means I will be purse planner only for the second half of the month, unless I want to experiment with some printables or bullet journal style, and then go to an undated expansion for May and June, then, July, BOOM, new planner. Which I may be obtaining in the next few days. This means excitement for this planner geek, and to know that the planner I am planning on has completely neutral pages, so I can do anything I want to make them the me-est me that ever there me’d, well, that’s a good thing.

That’s where I am headed, across the board. For writing, oh definitely so. The stories I have to tell now are different than the stories I had one, two, ten, years ago. Then again, there are stories that have been waiting for literally decades, tapping their toes in restrained impatience. One day, they’ll break free of the restraints (and if it is my hands that untie the knots, so be it) and we will meet upon the page and the adventures will be glorious. Until then (and after then) it’s one foot in front of the other. This fits, that doesn’t. What I feed, lives.

I don’t have to be any of the authors who inspired me to begin writing, or those who inspire me to keep going. I don’t have to compare myself to long-established superstars or bright young things. I only have to compare myself to me, an write the best story I can, from where I sit, right now. That, I can do.

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