I have been working on my middle reader novel manuscript for a very long time. I am really ready to be done with it and send it out the old school channels in the publishing world.
However, it is not quite done with me.
I do struggle to have uninterrupted chunks of time to work on it. If I try to work on it in my house while all the kids are in their various schools, I always seem to find something else to do, like clean the pet fur that collects at the baseboards, rather than focus on the edits. Or I get yet another email or phone call from Captain Comic’s school about a latest fiasco, social or academic.
Or I just take a bit of a wandering mental break because I try to hold so much together in my head during the usual mayhem. When there is quiet, for even an hour, it feels like a luxury I need to indulge however brief it might be. Because quiet and alone are precious and rare. It’s like I just flew to the Bahamas in my mind. Except not. Usually I end up making lists of all the need to dos. But I wouldn’t have even made the lists if I didn’t have some time to myself.
So, for the summer, I made an excellent habit of going to the library to edit this big Draft Three. The boys were visiting their father out of state and Grandma would take Toots to the playroom where she works out. I would pack up this old laptop, and my New Orleans tourist bag full of critiqued manuscripts and leave the house. Then the boys came home, etc. and then school started, etc., and the mayhem resumed its usual pace. The critiqued manuscript bag gathered dust between sessions.
My writing group that usually meets twice a month on Tuesdays, like clockwork, also seems to have hit some glitches that are completely understandable, but I miss our regular sessions. We were supposed to meet up in Williamsburg yesterday, but that fell through, something came up for the host. Another has some serious stuff happening in her life, so that left two of us. My partner and I agreed to meet at my usual library space and dig back in.
Neither of us walked into the library in the headspace for writing, we both had a lot on our minds, but once we sat down and got to it, we were both pleasantly surprised by what came out of the session. She packed it in at 12:30, but I wanted to get to the end of the scene, and I finished an hour later.
I am nearly done. I have written the final catalyst scene for the 50th or so rewrite -the hardest scene for me to face because I hate having to hurt my main character, who has not grown up, but come of age over and over again throughout the lives of my two real life sons.
I truly am almost there. Even if I’ve said it a thousand times before, this time it’s for real.