Dear reader, lately it seems I've been sporadic in making it to this space. Even the times I've written, it's been done in some scattered, wild-eyed state. There is, as there always seems to be, a lot going on: school projects and final exams, all manner of musical performances, lessons, auditions, applications, and deadlines, volleyball practices, out of state tournaments and the logistics related to such, a house to clean, a family to nurture, a metabolism to recover, a dress to be conjured for a high school dance, various and sundry commitments to keep, this novel to revise...(none of that in any particular order).
I'm probably forgetting something.
This novel, dear reader. Remember when I said it deserved to be called as such? That was before I waded into the quicksand otherwise known as the revision process. Remember when I said how much I adored that process? That was before I attempted revising a novel.
I lament the tone of this post, how it echoes the chaos in my head. I would rather think and share peaceful thoughts. I would rather convey some sense of how mindfully I'm navigating life, how engaged I am in the moment. It's not that I'm not. I am. But at the same time I'm struggling to keep up, and in announcing a blog break I feel disheartened, knowing it is less a repose and more a detention from something I enjoy, something which helps to soothe my tangled mind.
Ironically, I would say it's revising this...novel, this story, this stack of hay...which has me so contorted. The other, more administrative, demands of life have always been there in some shape or form. They add a certain layer of stress at times, but rarely venture so deeply into my thoughts.
It's this struggle to shape words and convey meaning that is unravelling me like a ball of string.
I'll spare you the rest of my soliloquy...it's waxing too melodramatic for even me to bear. Perhaps a little break is in order and in the meantime I will leave you with this thought: yesterday I went for a run in the desert, the glorious, clear, wild and barren desert.
Here's what I love about the desert: the desert would never write something like I've just expressed to you. The desert would never wring its hands over the revision process. If the desert was trying to write a novel and couldn't find the words to express what it was feeling, it would just kill the entire thing. No soliloquy. No melodrama. Just annihilation, plain and simple.
At any rate, while I was there I hung a bell from the branch of a tree.
Somehow it makes me happy to think of it out there in the middle of nowhere, with nothing but the deep blue sky, the vast, endless earth, and its pretty little sound.
It makes me feel a bit more clear.