Summer officially ended at my house when school resumed, which means I’m back at my desk writing. I like to work on rough drafts through fall and winter then I take the summer off to get some distance from my work. This allows me to come back later and view the material with fresh eyes, note errors in content, theme, pacing, and structure, making content editing so much easier. Usually, I illustrate during that two-month break but due to an arm injury (almost healed now), I’m still unable to paint.
Not working for two months was somewhat unbearable. I get
anxious when I can’t write, but I managed. 😀 I spent a lot of time lounging poolside and catching up on my Netflix queue. And speaking of the latter, I have two words. Well, one word and a number. Sense8. Love, love, loved every second of this show. It’s gritty, groundbreaking, visually stunning, and a cultural feast. And now let us pause for a moment of silence to show our gratitude for the Wachowskis, J. Michael Straczynski, Max Riemelt in a hot tub, and episode six. Afuckingmen.
I caught up on my reading and music this summer. I’m currently reading Pat Conroy’s, The Water is Wide, and Diana Gabaldon’s, Written in My Own Heart’s Blood. Breaking Benjamin released new music too and it’s totally groovy. Drool.
Since I’ve been unable to paint I’ve been basking in the creations of other, superior artists, whom I’ve come to worship, Alexander Jansson, Zdenko Basic, Yuko Shimizu, Laurens Barnard, Senyphine, and Chris Mars to name a few. I have a space saved above my mantle for an Alexander Jansson but my husband and I are unable to choose a favorite. They’re all so good. Right now His Epic Amazingness is working on a book titled Monsters, Ghosts and Cinnamon Buns. I will have this book. It will sit on my bookshelf next to the awesome illustrative works of Zdenko Basic. I love illustration and routinely purchase children’s fiction for myself though my youngest daughter fervently believes I do it for her. She’s cute.
On a serious note, I spent a month or so with my father. He has stage four liver cancer. The time we spent together was bittersweet. It was an emotionally overwhelming experience, which left me devastated and numb.
This summer was also a time of personal discovery. For instance, I discovered that I’m allergic to eleven foods. Eleven. I basically eat nothing now. Nothing. The foods I’m allowed to eat take up a half page when printed out for display on my refrigerator (because one tends to forget they’re allergic to eleven foods and their bazillion cross-reactive cousins). Half. A. Page. I am fucking starving. I’ll be seeing a nutritionist soon. I’m feeling a bit like Billy Halleck of Stephen King’s, Thinner, these days, minus the whole dickhole personality (my repetitive use of the F-word throughout this post notwithstanding).
So that’s it. Party’s over. No more Netflix binging, no more lounging by the pool, no more chocolate or cheeseburgers or cinnamon buns (unless they come with monsters and ghosts). It’s time to grab a cup of coffee, oh wait, no, I’m allergic to coffee. Time to grab a cup of bone broth – because nothing elevates one’s writing mood like a steaming cup of bones and offal – open the laptop and get to writing.