On Halloween, he sent me a picture of the kids out trick-or-treating with him and his new girlfriend. He’s also sent me random texts saying, “You’re old,” so I’ve come to expect this sort of thing from him and I just ignore it.
It’s strange when the performance drops and suddenly you feel like you’re dealing with a ten-year-old, instead of the person they pretended to be.
“Amicable” is not a word that I would use to describe us.
So here we are on November 4th, and I hate how foggy headed I am. In the past I always felt incredibly sharp when it came to my fiction writing, and I did a good job of holding details in my head to weave together and reference back to. Now I’m … dull. I can’t remember what I wrote yesterday. I find it enormously frustrating, and part of me is scared that this is my “new normal.” I’ll have a wall of post-it notes that the kids will knock down, play with, and destroy. Then we’ll all laugh about c’est la vie, though inside I’ll be crying about how much I lost of myself.
And for good measure, my phone will then chime with a text from him, reminding me, “You’re old.”
My muscles aren’t used to handwriting, so I’ve been wearing one o’ them wrist compression/support glove deal-ios when I write. It’s really helped to tighten up my penmanship, closer to how it was when I was in high school. One of my quirks is that I hold my pen “wrong” and I was never able to learn better, so I had a callus on my pinkie through all of my childhood. It’s disappeared since my school days, but sometimes now I look down at my pinkie and wonder how much handwriting it would take to get that callus back. More than three days worth, I know that much.
I think that it was good that I decided to go back to my roots with handwriting for NaNoWriMo. Heck, if I wanted to get really authentically me, I could get a burgundy marker. The very first novel I ever started was written with burgundy marker. đŸ˜‚
So … I’m trying out something new with this story, and I have three characters interacting with each other instead of my usual two… or sometimes just one character alone with their thoughts. Maybe one day in the distant future, I’ll make it all the way up to four characters in a room. But that seems like a lot so maybe not.
Sometimes the introvert goes right through. I’m secretly proud of the fact that The Scion Suit functionally has only three characters.
Heck, on my child-free days, I’m so accustomed to the silence that my robot vacuum sometimes freaks me out. Like, “OMG WHAT’S BANGING AROUND? Oh it’s just you, Roomba.” I have yet to feel lonely — I’m still establishing my sense of safety.
The downside of NaNoWriMo is that waking up my creative side is also waking up my emotional side, because you can have frequent anxiety attacks and still be thoroughly numb inside. I cry at dog food commercials. I watched Flowers in the Attic and cried. Then I watched Stephen King’s Misery with Kathy Bates, because while I’ve heard rumors of her amazing performance, I haven’t actually seen it before … and Misery was the Stephen King novel that convinced me of his genius as a writer. But I did not cry. I was rather disappointed that the end of the movie didn’t include the publication of the final Misery novel, since I thought that was a nice touch in the book.
Anyway, that’s probably enough rambling from me for now. I’m surviving, one day at a time.
I’m also not anticipating that I’ll do any writing when I have the kids.
By Autumn Rain 