Thinking today of the Hurston quote about there being years that ask questions and years that answer. The last several months have definitely felt like a series of questions about motivation, about purpose, about skill and craft. I’ve written quite a lot, but very little of it has properly gelled, and I was so focused on maintaining my momentum and getting work out in circulation that it took me a while to see what was happening.
Part of it was trying new things: experiments in voice, structure. Part of it was fear, for isn’t it always fear? Fear of the work, fear of success and failure alike. Fear of being seen, fear of being misunderstood or perhaps understood too well. All that fear.
I was talking to a doctor about my insomnia, going over my symptoms in extreme detail. I thought I needed a sleep study. And she said, very kindly, “what you’re describing is anxiety, not apnea.”
Ah, yes. That old friend.
Since I miraculously got not one but THREE two-hour chunks of sleep last night, I’m going to do a little mid-year roundup while I’m relatively coherent. Even though it’s not quite mid-year yet.
A Harvest Fit for Monsters
Red in Tooth and Claw
Properties of Obligate Pearls
The Family of Man
and an odd little essay (??) on using painting as a framework for writing . . .
Not my best first half, productive-wise, but I’ve also been working on the Talassio revision (o for the day when I can no longer say I’m revising Talassio) plus poking at not one but two novella projects. Which is part of my problem now, I think: I’m coming out of this period with way too many WIP all making demands at once. If nothing else, June has to be a month of prioritizing.