Dear Reader,
The trees are glorious today, in that distinctly late-October-in-Indiana way, which I suppose is its own shorthand. The red leaves on the tree just down the street seemed topped by the remaining green ones, which reminds me of apples. They’re coming down thick and heavy, all of a sudden, the leaves, and because it’s so warm, Word Raccoon does not mind at all. In fact, she’s feeling nostalgic as she keeps a keen eye on her street.
Word Raccoon always starts out so ambitiously, but today she has managed to knock out most everything on her list by late afternoon.
She even hung the artwork in the bathroom she’s been meaning to, Cindy Sherman prints from a friend AND she touched up the paint around the new light in the down bath. (She remembered to wear her dedicated painting shirt, but somehow forgot to change into painting pants. Well, at least she was wearing workout pants. Sigh.)
As she transitions away from reviewing items (she’s tired of it, it’s changed in the years she’s been doing it, not nearly worth the time and energy nowadays, and she has other work she’d rather pursue), she is also finishing up those remaining on her list.
She also found space today for some of the books that have been cluttering her reading pile. One of the books she recently read was by her reading chair, the book that took its sweet time getting here, and a quote in it from Duras’s The Lover had her holding it tenderly against her chest for several minutes. Same, she thought. Same.
What a fierce little book. She strongly related to the sense of independence in the main character, except she felt sorry that the young girl couldn’t seem to make and keep strong, healthy connections. Humans need those.
Ambition is one thing, but what makes the journey worthwhile in the end? Love. Relationships. And yes, what we accomplish, I’d like to think. (Sorry, working in my head on that post on legacy. Discussing it with John Green in my head still. Folly, is it? Folly?) There’s my mini essay. 😂
What are some of my current ambitions?
I think it can safely be said that I will always have a novel in progress. And I do believe I will have the (very) rough draft finished by year’s end still of Reaccessioned.
I’d love to have a poetry collection accepted, but I really do need to spend more time sending work out if that’s going to happen.
My poetry writing has slowed, and maybe that’s fine. I want to go back and revise, deepen, clarify, the hundreds I have written. (That’s not a flex, just a fact. Also, I still have tons of poetry ideas flitting overhead. I just need to take the time to reach for them.)
My newest moneymaking (here’s hoping) venture is exploring and writing about verticals and microdramas. More later on what this is going to look like.
Why do I reinvent myself every few years? As someone said so beautifully recently,
Why not?
Why not?
Today, I begin again.
Drema