It’s becoming clear to me that I’m at one of those time-crux things where, despite the fact that I absolutely do not have any extra time whatsoever, period, end of discussion, I am going to have to take time out of the schedule to 1) exercise and 2) meditate, because if I don’t… well, if I don’t, I won’t have time. If that makes sense.
Right now is a perfect example. I am up at 3AM not because I hurt (thankfully) but because my brain is convinced that I’m not going to slow down to listen to all its fabulous ideas, so once the body was rested just enough, it woke me up—just enough—and then chatted like a magpie. Wait, now I’m suddenly unsure of that metaphor. Chatted like a hyperactive chipmunk? It chatted. Lots. Let’s leave it at that.
The irony is that mostly it chatted about something I can’t act on. At this second I’m actively working on two novels, one with David, and one on my own. I am thirty-thousand some into the solo one; with David—whoah. I just went to the Scrivener document to check, and I’m a bit stunned. We have 20K! Damn. Well, actually, that makes sense, then. Because my brain wanted to chat—in depth—about where And All Was Said is going. I tried, groggily, to explain that this is a dual-driving deal, and it cannot make me go sit down and whip out ten thousand words in the middle of the night unless it wakes up David too, and good luck with that. So you know what my damn brain did? It partitioned the story. I lay there in bed, staring into the darkness with two humans and three cats snoring around me, and I watched my crazy plot brain branch out six or seven different ways the story could go, and I got the turning points for each way. It’s either brilliant or fucking scary. I can’t tell which. It did very little for the one I DO control, interestingly enough. So clearly part of my subconscious is having control issues. (And no one in the room is surprised.)
But I get this, because I have not been seeing to the care and feeding of my brain. Very little story that it didn’t write itself. Very little simple meditation. Even today during a reiki session it ran story. And the exercise gig has been hampered by the odd arms, but I think I can suss that out tomorrow.
Feeling more than a bit like the head of a large committee who is looking out at a board room where things are currently working, but possibly soon will get out of hand. Orange juice and donuts (DEAR GOD those sound good right now) will just hype us all up on sugar. Not sure what the team needs. A plan? Maybe just leadership. But that’s what the meditation is, I think. Meditation and exercise are space for everyone to be heard. For the house monitor to say, "Laundry! My god, woman, DO IT!" and the story keepers to point out what they’ve noticed. I think the fallacy is that I have to spreadsheet it all. More than anything, I think the whole boardroom needs to hear all the grievances, and my job is not to schedule, but to get everyone there to hear. And by hear I mean hear everyone else.
But maybe a few donuts and some orange juice. My god. I may have to run to Hy-Vee.
By the way, do you want to know more about David? Last night while we were writing (we kept getting off track), he kept referring to people or events I didn’t know, and when I’d say, "What?" he said, "I talked about it at Bookwenches." And I said, "Book what?" and so my homework was to google them and go find his blog and his interview. Which I did. Would you like to fall in love with my writing partner? Click here and here.
I keep meaning to ask him if I can post a snippet so you can see. My god, but it’s amazing. Whenever David has the wheel, I just sit there, collapsing into goo as I watch the words appear because he is THE most romantic man, ever, and then he’ll finish and say, "How’s that?" like, you know, it ISN’T so fucking brilliant that I ache.
So that’s me at now 4AM. I foresee a nap in my future. Also, donuts and orange juice.