Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
Wash me in yellow
the bright color of hopeful change
spritz me with marigolds
press me to get out of my lane
Soak me in yella
optimism and light
help me see past the madness and badness
and pursue what’s right
Drown me in yeller
make it an ocean of chance
a place where all are happy
and there’s singing and dance
Coat me in yellow
let it cover me all
like dazzling leaves on a tree
in the bright sunshine of fall
My monthly cycle is on the upswing. Love it when that happens. Much better than the dark troughs.
Dark days come once a month. I call it monthly but, you know, it’s a few days shorter than that, just a time when my optimism surrenders to my pessimism, and discouragement bludgeons encouragement into despair. During the worse of them, I’m in an echo chamber asking myself, “What’s the use? Is there a point to any of this crap?”
But today, it’s a triple high. Discouragement runs away, pessimism flees, and optimism and hope take office on high, declaring, “Everything is going GREAT.”
In honor of this monthly mini-holiday, Peter Gabriel’s 1987 song, “Big Time”, has entered the stream.
Big Time, I’m on my way I’m making it, big time, Huh!
Big time, I’ve got to make it show yeah, big time
Big time, so much larger than life
Big time, I’m gonna watch it growing, big time
Big time, my car is getting bigger Big time, my house is getting bigger
Big time, my eyes are getting bigger
and my mouth
Big time, my belly’s getting bigger
Big time, and my bank account
Big time, look at my circumstance
Big time, and the bulge in my big big big big big big big big big big big big big big big, hi there
A friend’s question prompted some post-response thinking as I conducted my pre-writing walk.
Before 2014, I wrote six novels. I never edited or revised them, and never sent them anywhere.
Between 2014 and 2016, I wrote four more novels. Since 2016, I epublished them. None did well. In fairness, I barely marketed them. I still remain fond of Returnee.
Since 2016, I’ve written five more novels. I haven’t published any of them. The first four were the Incomplete States quadrilogy that begins with Four On Kyrios. I shopped them to forty agents or more. None showed interest.
I finished April Showers 1921 last month and began shopping it with agents. Sent it to twenty. Three agents are showing interest by requesting more material.
Progress?
Last week I began writing another novel. The writing is the thing, you see. The new project has me laughing as the muses pitch crazy new twists on the whole thing. It’s the fun stage. It’s hard to keep up but I’m going to try to enjoy it while I’m on it.
Of course, like ocean waves, it’s not all linear, writing a novel. Ups and downs, setbacks and advances, excitement and frustration are ahead. Each will probably be endured multiple times in the months it takes me to write, edit, and revise this piece. That’s part of the process.
Got my coffee. My ass is in the chair and the computer is on. Time to write like crazy, at least one more time.
Stressed and blessed
encouraged and discouraged
he’s riding the waves of the day
Angry and numb
frustrated and feeling dumb
she’s riding the waves of the day
cascading and rising
falling and sliding
the waves lift you up and
take you under
man and woman
no matter skin or order
all of us ride the waves of the day
I love starting a new project. I love the energy that comes with a new writing project. Energizing and freeing, it’s like I’m taking on a new life.
Nothing — I mean, writing projects — ever really starts easily for me, but then, if I can find and dislodge the right piece of idea, it all starts crashing down in an avalanche of story and characters. This is my third day of working on my new novel, working title, It Begins. The first two days were sputtering efforts. I’m a pantser, so I’d muddled some concepts, characters, and settings together. I managed about a thousand words on each day, but they were gritty writing sessions, real plodders. In today’s session, I managed to dislodge the right little piece, and the rest crashed in. All I could do was hang on and type fast. After an hour of that, I’d added over fourteen pages and thirty-three hundred words. Then I stopped and created the book’s bible so that I could keep track of everything.
Now, I’m depleted and hungry. Half a cup of cold coffee remains. As usual, writer ass afflicts me, and both buns feel like they’ve gone to sleep. Time to walk, wind down, think about the next piece of story, and find food.
It’s been a good day of writing like crazy.
Michael Seidel, writer 