Do you ever just feel antsy with basically everything that contributes to the state of your life? I've been feeling that way. Don't misunderstand me, I find myself in a place that I generally enjoy, even though time to work on ANYTHING creative is extremely rare. You see, I'm busy with a couple of huge commitments, hugely taxing and hugely fulfilling.
Here's a sketch of one of them, which, I must say, is a pretty good likeness. If you wondered why, for two years now, my posts have become increasingly infrequent, here is a part of the reason. Isn't she lovely?
It is okay with me that I don't have time for much, right now. For one thing, it's only a season. For another, if it takes me until I'm sixty to finish this book (it won't), I still wouldn't stop writing it, and it calmed my impatience greatly to realize that. It's just stuck in my soul, and needs to be told. For another-nother I've been writing since I was able, starting in grade one, with stories of Eunice the Unicorn printed messily in Hilroy notebooks, so I don't have to worry about my interest peetering out. (Commitment #1 would be soo happy to know how it all started, she's quite a fan of unicorns these days. Note: she DOES NOT need any more unicorns, in case any of you who are reading this are feeling generous.)
So, if you're feeling antsy for book # 2 to be finished (I know you're all on tenterhooks), just let it be known that I AM TOO.
It's going well. Apart from the the whole gotta-write-2-books-to-get-1-good-one problem, but that's to be expected, it's just how I do.