And so the weekend begins!
I'll admit, I was a little whiny this round when it came to creating the posts for the Secret Agent entries. It's not difficult or anything; just time-consuming and a bit tedious. And since I'm in the midst of my 1000-words-a-day first draft blitz, I am loath to give up ANY extra time on my beloved Beatrice.
So. Just ever-so-teensy-bit-of-cranky. But I'm over it. ESPECIALLY because I've got two fantastic guys hard at work on creating the Perfectly Automated Secret Agent Submission Process. Oh, yes. It's going to be fabulous. I've got my gaggle of testers lined up, and some time in the next couple of months, things are going to get really streamlined around here!
In other news, I had an interesting experience with my beloved husband this week. You all know by now how deeply involved he has been in the editing process of my recently completed novel. (As in, he ridicules me to the point of painful belly laughter over stilted, dorky dialogue, and then I change it.) Well, he had a sort of melt-down midweek, in which he railed against the submission process, the publishing industry, and the universe in general. You'd think HE was trying to get published. I listened, I bit my tongue, I tried not to take his gloom-and-doom personally. And in the process, I made a huge discovery:
I am sanguine.
Me, the glass-half-empty! Me, the melancholic pianist/poet/wishes-she-were-a-dancer/loves thunderstorms!
Yet it's true. I am. And I feel like it's part of arriving at a "place" in the journey where you're really being propelled forward, as a writer and as a human being. As I listened to dear Mr. A venting his angst, I heard myself in his words, a novel or so ago. I think working through the angst is part of the process. And in listening to my husband processing it, I received the warm satisfaction of knowing that I have walked beyond it to my place of...well, sanguine-ness.
Mind you, I have my moments. Ugly ones, even. But I'm not existing in those moments and they are not defining me. Heck, I'm busy writing a new novel and losing a few pounds before the season of summer wardrobe arrives. Life is full, life is good! And it's hard to describe how it felt to be in a position of counselor, almost, for my husband/crit hero/biggest fan.
"I want to protect you," he said. (I love this man!) But I don't want him to protect me. I don't need him to. I may scream when a wasp dives at me across the front porch, but as a writer I'm tough-as-manatee-hide. Most of the time.
And you need to be, too. Not tough in a "Meh! Nothing can touch me!" sort of way, but tough in an "I understand this, I'm not emotionally wrecked by these ups and downs, this is my career choice, not a reflection of my deepest personhood" sort of way.
That's my wish for you this weekend. You all work hard, you're all passionate about what you produce. Add a good mixture of optimism, confidence, savvy, and calm to the pot, and you'll be well on your way.
Happiness and expensive chocolate to all!