Well, you didn’t notice I was gone. You know those folks who say you have to write every day no matter what? They didn’t have the year I did! But I’m coming to life. I’m thrilled to report I sold a novella to Samhain called Fish Outta Water, baseball hearthrob meets ichthyologist. Not kidding. Going back to my gaslight romance that means so much to me. The one that got me the agent who was a nightmare and made it easy to give up on it all. Starting over on that.
I’ve spent a good deal of the summer helping to close my brother’s estate, which had some heartwrenching moments, of course. I still miss him dearly after six months, but some family treasures emerged. Old film reels that I thought were lost to the ages. My mother’s 1926 wind-up toy. Things that mean so much to me, nothing to generations to come since I don’t have children. And that summarizes this summer’s journey.
When I tear away all the externals: worry about caretaking, about whether/if/what regarding writing, where to vacation, what to do with free time that will be acceptable… how to deal properly with inheritance… I realized that like many women my age (probably like all humans at some point), I’d lost myself. Forgotten everything about who I am–what I like to do, how I like to dress, who my real friends are… I couldn’t even think of a thing to put on a bucket list. Weird, huh? I think the grief of losing my mother and brother in somewhat quick succession really kicked my psychological ass.
My response was to start small. Buy very, very expensive tickets to a Yankees game. Go to a B&B I always wanted to stay in. Walk a beach alone just because I can. Say no. Say yes.
This sounds incredibly lame, I’m sure. But that’s okay, too. I don’t much care. Because it won’t mean a thing in hundred years.
So, how was your summer?