Sometimes I would like to say forget it, crawl into bed, and stay there for about three weeks. If you hadn’t noticed, I’m in one of those stretches right now but hiding in a bed of apathy isn’t possible, or feasible. Instead I will smile and nod and use the apathy as sunscreen. Keep doing what needs to be done until I forget to apply the sunscreen and realize (about three days later) I haven’t burned after all.
So strange, isn’t it? I live in the land and age of immediate gratification, entitlement. No matter how aware I am of these ridiculous and selfish concepts, they’re insidious. I want it IwantitIwantit….Part of the daily bombardment of media and those who seem to be living large all around me.
But Fringeland is all about caution and hurry up and wait. Wait for bills, wait for money to pay said bills, wait for test results, wait for responses to queries, and the writing itself, for me, is a slow process. For every hour I spend writing I probably spend another three thinking about what and how to write those words, and then another two editing. And of course, waiting for apathy to blow over, replaced with the usual numb inertia with those invaluable moments of peace. Of this is okay. I’m okay.
I’m thinking about all of this as I push forward with my WIP. Slow going, this one. No beach read here, I want it to have the intensity of my short stories. Which means each and every word has to be the right one. (This is not to say genre fiction isn’t written carefully, with serious attention to craft, just a different style.) Darker than the last, but equally surreal. I’ve decided I have enough realism in my day to day. For now, I’m sticking to the literary equivalent of surrealism. Enough reality to be recognizable, no elves, dragons, or fae, but where the impossible just is.
The other night Husband and I went out for dinner. It was raining, but not one of the crazy storms we’ve been experiencing. Weekends in the city are fairly quiet, just the peasants without summer homes or plans, so the restaurant was half empty. The restaurant itself has big plate glass doors that fold back, and they were open since the evening was cool. As I was bemoaning the hideousness of my twitter pitching experience, the awning covering the outdoor tables fell. Talk about surreal. At that point it was raining enough that I think there was only one table with customers out there. I told you, Fringelings, nothing good comes of al fresco dining in the city. A waitress was clipped in the head but able to get right back up. When we left, she was standing near the entry, ice pack on her head. I swear I could feel her willing that damned bump and nausea to die back down. Who can afford a day or two or three of lost tips?
Onward. I had planned to query the finished manuscript slowly, and I have been, but it occurred to me last night that if I go any slower I might as well not query at all. So I’ll pick up the pace a bit. And I’ll keep working on this new WIP, searching for the right words.