Just Around The Bend

All week I've felt unsettled. The most unsettling part is, I have no reason why. Then I realized, there is no one reason. It's a conglomeration of reasons, all trying to fight their way to the forefront, vying for my attention -- completing a homework assignment for an online course, sketching out ideas and determining my protagonist's emotional journey for my second novel (a sequel to the first), working on two pastel paintings up on their easels and waiting ... You get the idea.

I don't dread doing any of these things. It's that my mind doesn't want to cooperate to focus on any one thing. But when I break that down further, I know underneath this mind scatter lies fear.

Fear that I won't complete my assignment in the right way, or give the right answers. Fear that I'll take off in the wrong direction for my next novel, waste time, and end up writing umpteen drafts until I get it right. Fear that I'll ruin the paintings by overworking them, or using the wrong colors, or ... or ...

So the basic fear behind my paralysis is that I'll do something wrong. Don't many of us carry that fear? We don't act because we're so afraid that whatever we do will be the wrong thing?

Oh, but what if we do the right thing?

What if I jump into my assignment with renewed passion for why I signed up for the course in the first place, and find that I learn what I'm supposed to and gain knowledge I previously lacked?

What if I start writing, the characters open themselves up to me, and I can't pound away on the keyboard quickly enough to get it all down?

And just what if ... I stand in front of only one of those easels and don't even think about producing a masterpiece, the likes of which I see daily in my Facebook newsfeed from master pastellists? What if I stand in front of that easel and have fun? Experiment? Remember what I've learned online, or in a recent course, or what I've read, and apply those principles? Then accept that if I don't achieve the desired result, it was only paper and pigment to begin with. No big deal. I have more paper and pigment.

Just ask my husband.

The thing is, I can begin again. I can travel that road you see above, even though there's a curve and it's foggy and I might have to slow down a bit. Maybe along the way, I can enjoy the beauty of the road. And the trees. And the mist softening all the hard edges to create its own mysterious beauty.

Maybe I can forgive myself for not being so perfect and simply enjoy the journey. Maybe ... if I stop worrying about all the wrong that might await, I'll find the right. The right for me.

Maybe I'll find something wonderful just around the bend.

The Laziest Blogger in the World? Nah. Now Recommitted.

Just hanging on, doing my best.

Confession time: I love to blog. I love to write and share stories and anecdotes and the story behind the story, and then sprinkle some nice photos amongst all the letters and words, if only to give the reader pause and a little visual enjoyment. I also tend to write long sentences. Sorry for stating the obvious, but now you can't say I didn't warn you. So, where is this "confession" thing headed?

Well, one would think, based on the above statement, that I would blog more often. Like, once a week. Or even once a month. Not once every several months.

This is the look I'm imagining you're all wearing right about now. It happens to be my dear mother-in-law at her 100th birthday party. She's a true gem. I'm not sure what someone said to her right before I snapped the photo, but this was her response. When you've lived to be 100, I think you've earned the right to respond like this.

See, the thing about blogging is to connect to people; but if I post once every few months, that's a terrible way to connect. No matter what you do in life, you should be dependable, you should show up on a regular basis so people can count on you. That includes blogging.

So back to my confession: I'm sorry I haven't been more dependable. I'm sorry my habits have devolved to laziness and not showing up. I can't blame anyone for not reading my blog when I've posted nothing new to read in months. I spent all of 2016 working on my novel, re-writing and revising, so it's not like I've been sitting beside my pool, working on my tan and sipping mimosas. I've never even had a mimosa (because I don't drink alcohol). But I still should have been blogging about the beast of a time it is to sharpen a novel to the best it can be, while a book coach held me accountable every step of the way.

Shame on me.

I'm now taking a course to learn how to reach out more to others on social media. Since I'm Sheldon Cooper, Light (only, you know, the female version), it's difficult for me to reach out to others. Difficult as in, sometimes, painful. We won't bog ourselves down in the psychology. Just realize that my new epiphany is, I have to dedicate myself to posting regularly, at least once a week. To make up for lost time, I may post twice a week so we can get to know one another.

Oh! I also set up a rudimentary website: www.perrinbirk.com
Don't judge too harshly. I did it on my own. Much repentance followed due to some language I may or may not have let fly during the process.

 My mother-in-law and father-in-law. This was a most happy moment. The tiara was perfect, as she felt like a queen all that day. Her true gem quality shines through here.

To wrap this up ... the novel is finished, except for a select group of beta readers going through and giving me feedback. Meanwhile, I've been diligently working on the query letter, synopsis, and first ten pages. Then I'll begin querying literary agents. I've told a few people about this novel, the storyline and characters. Everyone has been excited to read it and ask me about it often. To maintain that excitement, and to get others excited enough to want to read it, I now must focus on that. And this blog.

I promise you that I will not let you down this time. If you follow this blog, please tell others about it, and how this woman who writes it is really scared deep down inside (aren't we all?) that nobody will care or pay attention, but she's going to suck it up anyway and do what she should have been doing all along. Connecting. And to borrow a quote from a well-known celebrity: That's a good thing.

I paint, too--watercolors, pastels, acrylics. This is a watercolor I painted on a gloomy day when I was missing the mountains.