Derailed

As a fiction writer, much of what I do is organize randomness into some kind of satisfying matrix or pattern that might give some spark of pleasure to a reader (and myself).

And while this post is not about my fiction writing per se, it is about looking at patterns. More specifically the patterns of life's boxing gloves smacking into me over the past few months. I aim to find a way to keep myself from getting near that scum-covered bottom end of the spectrum where there is a noticeable absence of joy, motivation, meaning, etc.

Ten months ago, when we moved here, we were on an up-note because it was the first real light in the dark of necessary change and we were nervous, but excited. I'd say the first three months were just a process of exploration and getting acquainted and still full of bright-eyed enthusiasm (these were also lovely spring months).

Then there was the post- 4th of July crash when I thought all the fun was still happening without us in Petaluma...followed by the fuck-my-novel-didn't-sell-again crash shortly after my 32nd birthday. That one sucked pretty hard.

With the help of activities that Becca Lawton and I do with our Write Free work, and the generous support of other writers, I bounced back...far back up and was feeling really good again and working on a revision and life was a small party again.

Then the holidays came, and they came without mercy, and then some, and I felt myself hurled back down into a foul soup of confusion and angst and hurt and disappointments. And I thought for sure this was not going to break, but finally, at blissful last, it did. It broke so completely that I felt high with joy for about two days, full of energy and good plans. It was so freeing and I was so grateful.

Then Figaro died. Oh man. That took another month out of me, and turned me very negative about everything. I didn't want to be here in our new town, I didn't want to write...I was alone...blah blah.

Then I made some connections at work, possibly a new project I'll talk about later, and suddenly hope shot me its irresistible apple-cheeked smile once again.

Then I got mercilessly crushed by the flu.

So you see, we have a significant pattern over the last 10 months. Crushing lows, and then bounce back periods which are cruelly short, mere logs floating in the sea for me to hang an arm upon and catch my breath before the next damn wave.

So Universe, I'm begging here. Give me a little break, okay? If I've got 150 life lessons left to learn, I'll do it, I'll be a good student. But can I just have a little extended happiness for awhile? I really need it if I am to get anything done.

Thanks.