Blaming August



Some days are perfect for laying on the carpet, face up in a “deadman’s” pose, watching the ceiling fan makes a slow squeaky turn. Light filters in through tree leaves the  that whisper “stay inside, rest.”

August..  I’m languid, I lack an appetite.  [tweetthis]My neurons slow, and impulses slip across the synaptic gaps and onto an unanticipated path of imagination or memory [/tweetthis] Even long forgotten goals tickle at my conscience.

Maybe it’s the book I’m reading: A LITTLE LIFE by Hanya Yanagihara.  So sad, yet so full of hope.  It’s been a long time since I’ve read a book that refuses to be closed and left on the table.  Thank you Yanagihara and curse you, too.  This is a novel that will be haunting me for months to come.

Can a person feel impatient and sluggish at the same time?  I think I do.  I delegated some tasks for my novel, A SHIP OF PEARL and now I’m impatient to move to the next step.  How often should I check in with people?  How much oversight is micro-management.  In my former career, my team checked in with me regularly.  Outsourcing has its own challenges. New ones for me.

My new novel won’t leave me alone.  I have a strong first draft of the first chapter, with the second chapter/second voice nipping at my heels. Yet, there’s some technical type housekeeping tasks that need my attention, or my work will be like a spiderweb.  I know this to be true, because I’ve been there before. Untangling is a pain.  Like ripping out stitches or unraveling a half-knit sweater. One of my characters proclaimed her name as Patience. Perhaps she will teach me to be patient.

Well, enough of lying on the floor.  It’s time to get up and get at it.  If nothing else, I have a newspaper deadline looming.  Go now!  It’s time to pick up the pace, before August turns into fall. Besides, it’s almost lunchtime.