Feb 28 to April 28. Shall I blog every other month, do you think?
Everything’s different. My dashboard’s all funky. I have no idea what’s happened.
My sewing stuff is just nuts. I’m stressed and busy and still loving it. I’ve had to close up shop and go to custom orders only. Oohlala, the exclusivity of my dolly couture. It’s all good.
But it hasn’t been good for my writing. When the dressmaking first started to take over, I took a firm step back away from the computer. In a few places where I was expected, I checked in to say good-bye and be back later to friends and I spent about a month trying to adjust to my new workload. And I find that now, after 2 months, not only has my fiction suffered, but I’ve forgotten how to blog. Wow.
If you’ve read me before, you might remember that I feel like blogging is an important element for me as far as maintaining my own voice and just being able to let words come as easily as ideas. It helps to keep things running more in sync, I suppose, though of course they rarely truly do that. And when I found that I was sitting in front of my screen, even at my personal blog where I have been for years and where I have felt very comfortable for a very long time, I didn’t know where to start or what to say, and I found myself way too concerned about whether the subjects I had to talk about were going to be of interest to those who would read.
So often Howard Roark whispers to me that I shouldn’t care about that. And so often I forget how useful it is to say that this is mine and if you don’t like it, you’re welcomed to go elsewhere.
I’m sure I’m quite off track as far as what I was going to talk about, but losing that comfort zone I had in blogging, I had no way to get myself back into the writing. And then I decided to write Letters to Casey.
Lame as it seems to say it, I made myself an imaginary friend. Someone I’d met who was just terribly interested in hearing about my current story. Someone who wanted to hear every little thing I had to say about my work. And seeing as how she has that handicap of being imaginary, it’s somewhat easier to accept that she does not express the proper amount of interest and doesn’t bestow the wanted amount of unearned praise. Real people you just have to be annoyed an how clueless and insensitive and wrapped up in their own stuff they are.
I enjoyed writing to Casey yesterday. So much so that after I wrote her once, I wrote her again. And again. Until I had written her 6 letters totaling close to 3800 words in one day. In doing so, I worked out details that I had been avoiding or just couldn’t pin down. And last night it seemed so much easier to settle myself for the descent into madness that is sitting down to write a scene. I opened up the file in which I had written a few hundred words of a scene and left off before the middle. And after some cautious steps forward, skittering back nervously, repeat as necessary, I finally put down some words on the screen.
And before I knew it I was through. I wrote 837 words. This morning I decided they were pretty good words, and I should try again tonight.
Thanks, Casey. Talk to you soon.