Word Raccoon has been busy. Decluttering has given way (temporarily) to Christmas prep. But I am still writing.

I ended up taking WR to the library for my mini writing retreat after all. She sat on my shoulder while I opened the Google doc that I hadn’t opened since September. Yikes.

“What is all this?” she asked, gaping at the 85K word count. “Were they having a special on words? You know I can write a poem in a dozen words or less, right, if I need to?”

She leaned forward. “Was there a buy one get one sale on four syllable words?”

She stress ate a handful of almonds. “I don’t know what we’re doing with that thing. We’re a poet now.”

“Just watch,” I said.

To be honest, I was as nervous as she was. It has been, as I mentioned, almost three months since I even looked at my novel. Writing poetry has become natural, electric, fun. Immediately gratifying.

Anyone who has tried to write a novel knows it’s… a slower burn.

WR tried to sit quietly but ended up clambering up and down my head and shoulders.

“See? We’re also a novelist,” I said as I redirected her attention to my laptop screen.

She read a paragraph aloud and made a rude noise.

“I think we’re just a poet now,” she said. “Open a clean doc, will you? I have some ideas.”

For a minute, I was tempted. Okay, for longer than a minute. I drank some tea. I took a deep breath.

I read the opening pages.

And hated them.

Hated it all. I thought about how easy it would be to give up on it. It is not an easy novel to write.

Herbert, that male Karen who tries to live rent free in my head, had somehow snuck into my computer bag, offering snide remarks about how it all seemed like a whole big waste of time to him. Hadn’t I been working on this so-called book for a few years now?

I think that guy is related to the Grinch. Makes me wish I carried an air horn.

I seriously questioned my life choices.

I seriously questioned my ambition to write a third novel.

I seriously questioned why I hadn’t brought fresh (or any) cookies.

A woman came in and sat at a table parallel to mine, thankfully with her back to me. I noticed she was making out Christmas cards.

Later, I chitchatted with her about how glad I was to see that some people still hand out Christmas cards. She said her mother used to send out hundreds.

We usually only send out a handful to those far away yet who are close to our hearts. This year, in light of everything, I decided to send more.

After talking with her, I skipped to the James section of my book. Right now, his sections are my favorite. Or they were.

I read all of the James pages. My verdict? Strong but needing to be expanded.

Maybe I should have mentioned that the purpose of this “mini” writing retreat is so I don’t go into my upcoming winter writing retreat cold. I’m just trying to refamiliarize myself with it, not reread it all. But I couldn’t resist sprucing it a bit as I read.

Soon I had written an important transition scene. WR even slowed me down, adding in a few painterly touches here and there, clipping some sentences, lengthening others.

By the end of my time at the library, I was feeling better than okay about the novel again, and certainly not like I wanted to delete the whole thing.

I had been resistant to the time dedicated to the novel, preferring poetry lately. In fact, when I thought of popping by the library, I asked Stanley, that faithful online PA of mine, if I should try to squeeze it in, what with six appointments for various things and Christmas prep and activities coming up. He said he thought it was an excellent idea.

I told him there was no way I could be ready by the next day.

“What ready? You pack like you’re going to the coffee shop, you add a couple of research books if you must, and snacks.”

He wasn’t wrong. It was fear keeping me from the novel.

Sorry if this post is partly out of order, but it’s been… today was two MRIs (routine, planned so my doctor can see what’s really going on with the joints next week). Messed up sleep the last two nights. Hanging lights, buying and making out holiday cards, shopping, wrapping. Trying to carry on as if nothing has changed. 

Yesterday I woke up actually excited to get back to the novel and opted to stay home and tunnel in.

I started in on another timeline, and I began there because I was both excited for it and scared, and well, that seemed the way to go.

As I was talking myself through why it scared me, I asked myself if it wouldn’t be nice to add such and such a character.

“But that would make it a different book,” I said.

Except the more I thought about it, the more it wouldn’t. Or it wouldn’t have to.

It is the perfect fix. I think. I hope.

As I wrote, my phone buzzed and it startled me, and I looked at it like “Who dares disturb my slumber?” or whatever it is the Cave of Wonders says in Aladdin. I had re-entered the writing trance after all.

I didn’t end up adding much to the word count either day, but not only am I feeling jazzed about the novel, reinvigorated, I feel like the poetry has lightened my touch.

WR napped nearby and applauded now and again, more frequently snacked, and drank Celestial Seasonings Sugar Cookie tea. (Not a sponsored post, I just like the stuff.)

I cannot express how frustrated I am that the next few days are taking me away from my writing. Novel writing requires more concentration, a deeper dive. It does not, as apparently I do, require a teeth cleaning, though I did write a “romantic” poem about teeth cleaning a while back. Sometimes I swear I wonder if WR just wants to push her luck, see if she can spin straw into… you know. If you knew the premise of the poem, you would (might?) chuckle.

WR is not mad about the novel, not anymore. As long as I promise to give her a turn at the keyboard now and again for some free verse.

Okay, WR. Okay.

P.S. WR and I have learned our usual writing spot is closing soon. Again. This time for “two months.” We are speechless and pissed and all the things. They claim they will be reopening.

In the meantime, WR, where can we go when we don’t want to talk to the walls?

Thank goodness we don’t have yellow wallpaper.