Tearing through France on the Eurostar I think I’ve hit an impasse with writing - I’m waiting for notes on a novel from my agent, I’m lining up to pitch the memoir, I’ve got the third book in a series bouncing on its toes and stretching its calves on the sidelines, just out of sight, on the periphery of my vision. So what now while I wait and stretch? I’ve written about the events that made me, I’ve written about my mother, (have I? Now I think of it, maybe I haven’t), I’ve written about my father (yes, tick, definitely done that) and I’ve written a bit about recovery (have I talked about sobriety? Cold baths? Somatic Experiencing? No, not yet). And so as I write this, I see places I can go apart from the the south of France towards which I am barrelling on the Eurostar with my sons and Man Person (who hates that phrase but I hate boyfriend, partner, all those others, too young-sounding, too cold-sounding). There’s options, any one of those I can pick but more than anything is picking the blank page, and seeing what pours out. Like this. Unedited and unguarded. Good for me. And also the immediacy which is what made the memoir so effective (for me - it’s effect on me) because it was every day, it was have to, it was press publish no matter what. So stand by people (and already I want to apologise for the imposition, the emails that will come barrelling into your inboxes) for a new tempo, or a revert to the old tempo, of daily. It’s good for me to be unguarded, to not edit to within an inch of my life, to find a way round the carefully curated presentation of thoughts. It drives home the truth that nobody cares in the way I think they do and everybody cares in the way I think they don’t.
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I love the energy of this piece. I can relate to the excitement of wondering what you will write next, how all of the pieces and parts fit together, what is left to be said and what is best left unsaid. And those days when you feel you're barreling forward--that's a gift, a counterbalance to the days when writing feels like pushing through molasses.
Listen, my -- Woman -- Person and I long ago opted tongue in cheek for S.O. (you know, significant other) for her and S.O.B for me. Maybe he wants to try it on, see if it's not too tight in the shoulders.