What are we doing here, why do we keep doing the things we do, how do we decide what to do each day when we wake up, what the hell is going on, what is life, what is death, is there more?
I always, always feel this way right after I finish a book. I’ve written enough of them now that I know this about myself, so at least I don’t fall into the trap of taking myself too seriously. The questions stem from the kernel of…Should I write another one? Can I not? (Doubtful.) But there are SO MANY books in the world, all wanting to be read. Seriously, why bother? Which leads to all those bigger questions in a tumbling avalanche of uncertainty. Maybe I should have been a philosopher. Maybe it’s a simple chemical crash after the hype and stress of putting out a book.
Oh, but THANK YOU THANK YOU to everyone who has bought Ghost Fugue, for 3 Voices in the last couple of days!!! I’m watching for some reviews to start trickling in, pins and needles. I find I’m thrilled for every sale and every person out there who might read and get something out of it. Which might sound sort of noble, but it’s really quite selfish of me, to want to feel like I’m not just taking up space. [rolls eyes at self]
In a parallel track, we’ve been running. We’re about three months in now. SuperCoolHusband, and the two kiddos, and oh, Henry The Dog (he’s absurdly happy with this new development) and me, yes me, I actually run, well, sort of jog, slowly. Three times a week, we’re up to about 2.5 miles each time (kids do more like 3, running back and forth for us slow-pokes). I can’t believe we’ve stuck with it this long. We’ve actually been talking about running a 5K race. Shocking! Well, it wouldn’t be Sophie’s first, but the idea that I might run a race is like talking about someone else.
And then this morning I ran across this video, a short movie asking hard, personal questions of people while they are running. It’s exquisitely compelling. The running both seems to open the people up, as if their masks are thinner or missing because of the flush and endorphins, and also is a fairly on-the-nose metaphor for how we run through life, striving and efforting, trying to figure out how the hell to deal with everything that happens to us, the very things the people are talking about as they run…It’s a great piece of film!
Anyway, here, watch this, it’s wonderful, and it’s way better than listening to me winge! I’ll get on with writing soon and perk up.
Isn’t that something?
The kids and I are once again listening to Howl’s Moving Castle by Diana Wynn Jones in the car, it is just a wonderful book, and makes me feel how much I would love to write a book that someone, somewhere loved as much as I love it. But maybe it’s best to just write because it’s there, because I seem to get depressed when I don’t do it, because I start wondering if there is any point to anything. Could be writing is just a distraction to that question, and not an answer, but maybe it doesn’t matter. Must keep running somehow. Gah, I’m so morbid when I’m not writing [laughing].
(Sophie pattted me this morning and said, “there, there, Mom. Have some chocolate. That’s the answer. The question is pretty much irrelevant.”
She’s so smart.)