June has been an unsettling, bad-news month so far. Subsequently, writing has taken a backseat because it feels self-indulgent. It's also become a frustrating microcosm of the other areas of my life: I'm not making the progress I think I should be making; the way isn't clear. (So much for the escapism of it.) That's when I question the point of staying up past 1 in the morning tapping away on the keyboard. You can liken it to the tree falling in the forest and no one hears it--does it count?
But someone left the following comment a few days ago: "This story, your writing, it's just beautiful. The emotion that just seems to pour from the text as I'm reading is truly breath-taking. I've laughed, I've gotten choked up. Absolutely beautiful."
That was like someone offering a hand to pull me up. Upon reading the comment, I grabbed the flash drive and did a rewrite. Chapter five should be called: 'Agony'. My appreciation for published authors has deepened more and more.
I've got a few quiet days this week (fingers crossed that the plumbing and the household fix its are resolved) and one of my favorite writers sent in new material to edit, which is a treat and inspiring too. Hopefully, I'll get some decent sleep and regroup. I sure need it.
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