I Should Mention

I'm very excited about the freelance project. It's challenging, it's a tryout (which means if I do well, I will get more work), and I like the job. My restlessness is a product of my own warped psyche.

Great Description of the Writing Life

Dagoberto Gilb says:

"Writing is a permanent flu — it hits you, you have no control of it. Its symptoms are: Light-headed, feverish daydreaming about writing while at a paying job that you get fired from; gut-wrenching dread of having a worthless, unemployable life while writing one paragraph in two hours for a piece that you may (or may not if it's lousy, which it often is), after you have lots and lots and lots of paragraphs, a hundred or two dollars; finally, and even worse, a hallucinogenic-like bloodrush when something you have written is accepted — this delusional exhilaration can affect personality for many troubled years, even when the only other person to have read it and believed in you and this work, momentarily, was your one and only love (not even your mom will have been impressed), the one you shouldn't have let get away, but she now dismisses you because you're such a financial loser."

The rest of the interview is here.

Here is my situation. We are extremely busy at work. Summer is one of our crunch times. At night, I'm trying to work on a time-consuming and challenging freelance assignment that's due sometime in the next two weeks. (The deadline is "mid-July," and a non-definite deadline is awful for a procrastinator like me.) And the novel is in an interesting phase. Revised enough to be readable by outsiders and a few of my friends have read it. I've been told it reads like "a real book." I've had a few good tweaking suggestions, as well as some typos that eagle-eyed friends have caught. All in all, I'd say I have about two-three days of work to get it to the next stage, which is sending it out. And that's where my problem lies.

Until after "mid-July," I do not have the two or three days I would need to finish. Mentally, I know this is fine. What's a couple of weeks after years of writing? But not working on the book is bugging the righteous holy hell out of me. I am in a weird "what am I doing with my life" mood which always happens if I haven't been writing enough or working on my own projects. I get crabby, cranky, restless. I'm listening to Leonard Cohen, if that gives you insight into the funk I'm describing. And I love me some Leonard Cohen, but I keep reminding myself: jus be patient. Because as soon as I'm done with the freelance gig, I can turn the gas on with my own stuff. Unless, of course, I procrastinate, which I have been known to do.

The most hilarious aspect of this situation is that the agent who has expressed interest in my book is getting married in late July. Then she's going on her honeymoon. So realistically, it would be foolish to send it to her before mid-to-late August anyway. Yet, I continue to torture myself. I think writing is the like the flu. Or perhaps like mooning after your long-lost love, the one you must continue to follow and stalk, long after you have humiliated yourself, long after there's no hope, and long after anyone with any kind of sense would have said "just give it a rest already."

The Dark Side?

I still haven't fully recovered from our trip to Austin. I spent the weekend talking (a lot), drinking, and eating too much yummy food. On the Sunday drive home, I felt bloated and a little sick. Over the past few months, Nate and I have made an effort to eat healthier, which we usually do. So indulging was fun at first and then felt kind of gross.

One of my attempts to be healthier also has involved cutting out coffee. For the past three months or so, I've been drinking black tea in the mornings. If you know me very well, you realize what a huge statement that is. I LOOOOOOVE coffee. So much that I really do have a hard time drinking it moderately. I mean, I used to drink 8-10 cups a day. But Austin lured me back to the java and I’ve been drinking coffee in the mornings almost every day since the trip. This morning, I found a note on the coffee maker. Nate had written, “Welcome back to the dark side.” Gah! Must. Fight. The. Coffee. (But I’m having a cup now, petting my mug and whispering, "Oh, I missed you. My precioussssss.")

Austin was good. I always love seeing how old friends are doing, hearing about their lives. There have been some changes. At my dinner party, there were three children and one on the way. Also, some new loves and one friend who is applying for top security clearance with the government. (“I put you down on my list of references. Don’t be surprised if the FBI contacts you,” he said. “Everone else has come home from work and found a guy on the porch waiting for them.”)

Nate and I found some awesome jewelry by Robin Albachten while we were shopping on SoCo (I can never say “SoCo" without thinking how silly it is, especially since I remember South Congress as the place where you used to be able to solicit a prostitute and go to the XXX theater). I found some gifts for our nieces and a cool bag for my sis-in-law at Parts and Labor (where you can find a ton of cool, locally designed clothes, purses, and jewelry). Outside, Robin had a booth and I stopped to look at her jewelry because it was so striking. She has different kinds of pieces, but one of the things she does is find old, vintage glass and then recasts them in new jewelry. I found a cool ring that I bought for myself as a birthday present, and admired a necklace. But I convinced myself not to buy both, since I had already spent quite a bit of cheddar and I was still shopping for other people. I saw Nate sort of bite his lip and walk away. While I was in the next store, Nate went back and bought the necklace. What a sneak! (But a generous one.)

I did manage to get one run in while we were in Austin. On Saturday morning, I dragged myself out of bed and ran in the rain. The rain kept most of the crowds away; I saw only a few others out there. I was soon soaked, but I love running on dirt and crushed granite trails. I got all muddy, which is always fun, and I loved seeing the rain hit the river and hearing the water in the trees overhead. It’s those moments that make me miss Austin.

But Dallas is good. Even if the Mavericks break your heart. Even if the Arcadia burns down.

Update: Some pictures of the fire.

A few random thoughts

The Red Bull Burger at the Cock & Bull should be renamed the Crack Burger. Smoked gouda, roasted red bell peppers, and chipotle mayo. I ate that burger two days ago and I'm still thinking about it.

A sign your novel might be too long ... when you make two copies of it, and the copier starts smelling like it's burning.

Nate bought me a bike for my birthday. It has a bell! He also bought me a pretty bracelet from Italy that apparently involved complicated exchange rates and such. My birthday isn't until Monday, but he has a hard time not giving me presents early. I do not try to help him with this.

We had our first ride around White Rock Lake (me on my new bike!) on Sunday with Katy and Doc. Nine miles. I hadn't been on a bike in a long time. It was fun. There are strange swamp/humid pockets around the lake, which I found interesting.

Deadwood is back on!

I'm having two parties for my birthday, one in Austin and one in Dallas. Even though I haven't lived in Austin for four years, that party is going to be larger.

In Austin, we're staying with a friend, a bachelor friend. In the past I've had to ask him to stock toilet paper and clean towels before a visit. Today he called and asked Nate what kind of wine I like. I feel like our friendship has leveled up. Or, we are getting old. Or maybe he thinks if he gets me tipsy enough, I won't care if there's no TP.

In Austin, we're meeting up with my old boss from Chicago, from the Mexican Fine Arts Center. He is going to be at my party, along with his new lady love. Austin and Chicago: two worlds collide! Who will emerge victorious?

My birthday is on Monday, Juneteenth. I will begin celebrating tomorrow. I see a Curra's avocado margarita in my future ....