I have pulled myself out of my little well of feeling sorry for myself and am halfway through another round of edits on my current manuscript. Even if it goes nowhere, I sure have learned a lot from it! 😂
My first book came through me, like I was only a conduit for the story. This work-in-progress hasn’t been like that at all. I hope I’m not forcing the plot (or maybe I am, but a story must be created to exist… right??) This current version is so vastly different from the first that I feel like I’ve written four novels instead of one. (My dear friends have told me about the infamous sophomore album.)
Since I’m in the editing zone, I’ve continued to voraciously read novels. Always, always, always, I think there is so much to read. There are so many books in the world! I’m glad I’ve contributed one. I feel daunted by the attempt to contribute another. I’ve been thinking about that here and there in our age of endless content. Why one more book? But every time I try to contemplate a life without writing, without doing something to offer to this universe, I feel profoundly bereft. It’s strange to me because I so want to live simply and without having to produce anything or become anyone, and yet, and yet. Maybe I’m mixing up wanting to write with egotism too much. But it also feels like writing doesn’t exist without ego. What’s your take?
Am I even making sense? I’m studying another language, and I’ve arrived at some point where I’m becoming less confident in my ability to write and think in English. Sometimes I don’t know exactly what an unknown word means but can make a guess yet the English word escapes me at the same time. Never have I thought so much about verbs or prepositional phrases. Lovely things 🙃
Until next month & with love,
Thao
In my library hold queue:
- Crow Talk by Eileen Garvin: a moving story of hope, healing, and unexpected friendship set amidst the wild natural beauty of the Pacific Northwest.
- The Travelling Cat Chronicles by Hiro Arikawa: With simple yet descriptive prose, this novel gives voice to Nana the cat and his owner, Satoru, as they take to the road on a journey with no other purpose than to visit three of Satoru's longtime friends. Or so Nana is led to believe...
- Love Forms by Claire Adam: a powerfully moving story of a woman in search of herself—a novel that rings with heartfelt empathy through the passages of a mother’s life, depicting the enduring bonds of love, family, and home.
