When last I wrote, I was in the midst of gridlock. I've begun clearing space.
I just finished the bulk of Don't Throw Baby Out with the Bathwater, the professional credentials project, so I have the mental space to tackle further fiction. I needed the space between projects. I'd been hard-traveling, one project after another, for a year and a half, and I had planned to keep going, but I knew I needed a pause. I always have those. It was easier to tell when I was writing novel-length manuscripts a decade ago, but I had started doing shorter projects, and only recently started building back up the bulk.
Now I quibble with myself: this one or that one? I don't want to make the decision immediately. It's okay. It's fine. I actually just submitted In the Leviathan somewhere. I even had pay (it's a contest, not a vanity publisher). I'm currently telling myself I'm not going to lose my mind when I find out I didn't make the cut. It is what it is. I know this one was worth writing. I'll see how it goes. I don't want to publish this one myself. But you never know.
I'm trying to relax more, as a writer.
