the breeze drifts on by

The world just keeps on turning, doesn't it? Whether or not you want it to, life just keeps on plodding along, and the commitments keep on stacking up, and the work, and the lack of time and sleep and energy. It's intense. And it's such a fine line for me. I am happy beyond happy that I am fortunate enough to spend all day every day working on books. To surround myself with story, with language, is a blessing. But sometimes I get swallowed whole by other people's stories, and lose track of my own. And that's what has happened for a good portion of this year so far. There's some irony there, in spending so much of this "year of me" on other people and their work so far.
Please don't take this as a horrible complaint. I take full responsibility for it. I, and only I, have made the choices I have made. I accept that. I accept them. I also accept the fact that learning how to focus more on myself, on my own wants and needs, is more than the flip of a switch that I thought it would be. It takes time. And effort. And frustration, and more effort. But I can get there. And I will.
Only two freelance projects stand between me and the time to write again. So I'd best hurry through them.
I think that part of the problem is a sense of validity. With my day job and my freelancing, I can go to bookstores and point out tangible proof of my efforts. I help other people improve their art. With the writing, there is no proof of anything yet. It's intangible. Which means that I don't always feel that it's valid to take time away from the tangible money-making tasks to indulge in the act I am most passionate about. Intellectually, I know that's silly; I need to spend time on my writing in order to improve, in order to find an agent, in order to sell books. Emotionally, even though I inch closer and closer to it, I think I'm still afraid of taking the plunge and truly focusing on it, truly pushing myself. I need to figure out how to get over that. I don't want to spend the rest of my life improving other people's art, as nice and fulfilling as that is. I want to spend the rest of my life improving MY art.
Anyway. A book and a dream for you, and then I need to get back to work. So without further ado . . .
9) The Raven Boys by Maggie Stiefvater. Why on earth did I wait so long to read this book? I love everything I've read by Maggie, and this one is no exception. It's beautiful and sharp and cuts like a knife, and it hurt SO GOOD to read this. I love Blue and Adam the most, though the other raven boys are endearing, too. I love Blue's strange family, and how the weird is the normal, for them. I have the next book, and will read it soon. Some books/authors just cleave to your soul and never leave, and that's how I feel about this series and Maggie's Wolves of Mercy Falls trilogy as well. They turn me inside out, they make me cry and give me hope all at once.
Dream: Last night, it started with a little boy. I was on some sort of public transportation (train or bus, not plane) and he was with his mother across the aisle and I think one row of seats up. He was upset, and his mother wasn't succeeding in calming him down. I got tired of his wailing, and asked if he would like to sit next to me and color in my notebook with my pen. He and his mother accepted, and he sat with me for however long we were all on the train. And by the end of it I was fast friends with him, and his mother adored me. Then the scene changed; I was in a swamp, I think, surrounded by green trees covered with ropey vines that seemed as though they leaned down to greet me as I passed. I was working at some sort of waterside (partially floating) plant nursery, I think it was. I was moving potted plants, talking to people, that sort of thing, although it had a bit of a museum feeling to it as well. A gaggle of girls showed up, and in my dream I had flashes of memory about hanging out with one of them; we were good friends. She was the older sister of the boy I'd befriended on the train, and at this point I was friends with the whole family. I left work to hang out with the girls at the family's house, which was huge and labyrinthine. We were eating snacks from the fridge and generally being saucy girls, laughing and trying each others' clothing on and etc. Then I scene changed again, I was no longer at the house. I was maybe at my own? Although I don't recall what it was like. What I do recall is calling my friend, but her mother answered, and she wasn't there. "But Edward is, why don't you come over to hang out with him?" I was intrigued. I knew there was an older brother but didn't know him, so I did. I let myself in and went to his bedroom door and knocked, and when he said I could enter I slowly pushed the door open and he was laying in bed, only his face and a bit of dark curly hair showing. I gave him a flirty smirk, and at the same time I could tell that there was something really wrong with him that only I could fix. (Truly. This was not a "Fix the bad boy's attitude" thing. He was ill, or hexed, or something.) So I made friends with him and I was healing him with plants and such, and got so comfortable with the family that I was basically one of them, although Edward stayed fiercely self-conscious around me. For some reason I thought of him as the Sea King, though if that was true or not I don't know. I wish I'd stayed asleep through the end of the dream to see if I'd healed him; he was only partially better when I woke.
And now, back to work so I can finish these projects so I can get back to mine. Happy Thursday!