When I opened my curtains this morning, I saw that the buds on the tree outside my window had doubled in size since I last looked. It will have blossoms soon; pink, fragrant, cheery blossoms.
The trees are coming into leaf
Like something almost being said
(Philip Larkin, “The Trees”)
I can barely believe that May will be here in the morning. Since I began April with the goal of completely editing Full of Days, I do not meet the end of this month with any regret. The manuscript is edited and I am awaiting a decision from a prospective publisher (and praying it is a favorable one). With the arrival of May, I commit myself to three new goals: outlining the plot of The Mercy Hour, writing at least its first three chapters, and reading. Very little reading occurred in April, which is a sad statement for any author to make, no matter how amateur.
Last night I stayed up and wrote the first couple pages of the new novel. While the first lines were difficult to write to my satisfaction, once I got there it was pure joy. The lines of the paragraphs began to flow and I could have kept at it for so much longer than I did. I can’t deny that I wasn’t feeling thankful for my full-time, 8 to 5 job when I forced myself to stop writing and get some necessary sleep. Since editing is an entirely different ballgame, taking up my pen for this new story was like returning to a much missed, feels-like-home place. As I brought the lead character to life, my mind was excited. The immersion was intoxicating. In numerous circumstances it takes considerable effort to be comfortable and happy in my own skin, but when I write… ah, when I write, I do love being me.