Acknowledging abundance
This applies to all areas of my life, but as this blog focuses on the writing and sewing, I'll limit my appreciations for those aspects (and still write a long-arsed post, heads-up!). I just finished my second chapter of the day, oh my goodness. I told my husband this morning over breakfast how this novel is pouring from my head and fingertips, and then I took a shower, considering what might happen next, then proceeded to start another chapter for the day (the first completed before eating).
I haven't written like this IN A LONG TIME. One day last week I wrote two chapters in a day, not sure from where all this novelistic enthusiasm springs, maybe due to it being November and I'm channeling my prior NANOWRIMO days or making up for last year's spectacular fail. Whatever it is, I'm VERY GRATEFUL to be so prosy, lol, although I do need to get some housecleaning done this week, ahem. But relishing this rather I'll just write myself thank you very much story is essential, because sometimes writing IS a spectacular fail, or it's fraught with so much hand-wringing. Sometimes writing is like pulling snot from one's guts, so damned painful that a writer wonders, "Why the heck am I trying to do this anyways???" I know that sense all too well.
But then the skies clear, the rainbows sparkle, stars twinkle, rain falls, sun shines, whatever kind of weather makes you ecstatic. That kind of weather drops all the words from heaven, and I don't ask twice, catching them all in my fingers, then decorating the virtual pages until however a chapter ends. Today's chapters ended like this:
Chapter 22: She began to cry hard, wondering if what she had said was true, and if so, was that why this man and Gilly mattered as much as they did.
Chapter 23: By then Sooz had slipped from the room, but Chella called after her in silence, imploring Sooz to make a full confession.
Whoa, those are some endings! But it's a love story, 'nuff said. I'm still a little in shock, racking up six thousand, six hundred and twenty-six words today, DUDE! Maybe taking off a day made the difference. Or maybe this novel is one of those that clears its throat every few minutes, stomping its feet saying, "Hey, pay attention to me!"
Uh, okay, so you have a lot of fabric, Past Me says. Isn't that what the quilting industry wants you to have?
It most certainly is, Future Me frowns.
Why are you frowning, Past Me smirks.
Because life isn't merely about obtaining all the toys before one dies, Future Me chides.
It's not, Past Me inquires.
No it's not, Future Me sighs.
Huh, Past Me shrugs. Who knew?
Present Me clears my throat, and sheepishly raises my hand.
Future Me nods, then smiles, seemingly relieved for my awareness that more fabric isn't necessary.
Past Me then clears her throat. Is too much fabric like too many books?
Both Future and Present Me stare at her. There can never be too many books, Future Me says.
It's a John Steinbeck quote, Present Me adds.
What's the difference, Past Me says with a snark in her tone.
The difference, Future Me begins....
Is that writing is at times different than sewing, Present Me says.
How so, Past Me asks.
It doesn't cost me anything to write except my time, Present Me responds. Fabric is expensive and seeing it in totes makes me twitchy.
Oh, Past Me shrugs. You people are weird, she adds.
You don't know the half of it, Future Me says, rolling her eyes hard.
