This week has been one of the many weeks the prove how difficult an artistic mind in a hectic life can be. Work, along with doctor appointments, overwhelmed me during the daytime hours, while thoughts of my art haunted me at night. I’ve not written anything other than letters for the day job and this blog in over 2 months. It scraps at my brain like a rusty butter knife over toast.
The holidays stampede toward us at an ever faster gate. This will only complicate the already complicated. Most of the Christmas shopping I’m doing for my wife is done, but then comes the gifts for my daughter, mother, niece, and in-laws. Hopefully my wife will take care of our friends. She is supper busy too though. Right now is her busiest season at work. It will all work out lovely though, it almost always does. And when it doesn’t we enjoy it anyway.
I received yet another rejection for my novel last week. The critter that sung my praises and lauded my abilities was forced to turn me down for the craft I offered was not up to the par she expected from me. This means, I have to get back to the grindstone. In the next few months my latest novel needs to find its way out of my brain and onto the pages of my print. This will happen, it must happen.
The diagnosis the doctors gave me was of Impulse Control Issues. This means that instead of being spontaneous I am impulsive. Well, flying by the seat of one’s pants is conducive to not controling ones impluses; or is that the other way around? Anyway, my condition is favourable to the atmosphere the holiday season makes one endure. Last minute changes of plans from Thanksgiving dinner at 2Pm to 4PM with whatever fixings are thrown together is not so much of a shock as an accepted way of the road.
My book waits in my head, steaming and brewing and fermenting to the stage it needs to be for me to properly pour it over the pages. At that time, I will buckle down and let the world discover what a wonderful work of art I plan for it to be. Until then, I will enjoy the wonders that bounce around in my brain while I toil and sweat over the everyday drudges of life.