False prophets?

I can’t be the only one getting these emails, but no one else has mentioned them yet.

Every blessed morning, I get at least one or two messages from representatives of Publishing Houses or Literary Agents. All promising to successfully market one or another of my books.

These emails are long, well-written, and sincere. Full of interesting information and comments about my books. They include detailed explanations of how my work could be better.

Extensive knowledge of my life and writing would indicate a lot of research work on our website, colorful and descriptive praise of past posts, indicating a thorough investigation of me and everything I have ever done. Impressive, to say the least.

Reading all this praise really boosts your ego. It’s hard not to get carried away with the charm of it all. So far, as I can’t bear to delete them all, I have been saving them to a file. Just to read them all again, you understand.

They sound so genuine, but I suspect they aren’t. I mean, who shook the helpful tree and sent them all to me?

I found myself in a bit of a quandary yesterday. Everywhere I looked, there were things piling up. Things that will need to be sorted, fixed, or amended as soon as humanly possible.

I tried my very best to keep my cool, but the more I tried, the harder it became.

At one point, I was practically running around like the proverbial headless chicken!

Not really, of course; my running-around days are long gone.

I was wearing two heads: the dutiful, get-on-with-it head, and the one that desperately needed to crawl away and find a peaceful corner.

All of this had nothing to do with Swan Song, my WIP. That is coming along very well. Thank goodness!

It’s everything else that seems to be in a glorious mess, and I don’t really understand how this has happened. In my travels through our files, I have found missing content, wrong fonts, and wonky formatting. Surely, I must have been doing better than this before my world collapsed back in March?

I signed off last night, grasping my favorite resolution as if my life depended on it. “One job at a time.” And it has to be one job at a time, as my head can’t cope with too much at the moment.

But I wonder how successful this will be, given how many new problems keep turning up?

You may be wondering why I am bothering about all of this, what with the state of me and all… I am not being maudlin, but it occurred to me that I should try to make sure that what lives after I am gone is the best I can do…

Unfinished Business

I have finally found something to say that makes sense of the state of my head. I have been hovering over so many things lately, constantly wondering why I never seem to get around to finishing anything.
My first thought was that whatever it was wasn’t good enough. Not worth finishing. Then came all the excuses… too tired, too confused, what would be the point, and the best one yet: I might not be around much longer.
Of course, all of these things are true, but are they compulsory?
Somewhere along the line, I began to question all of it. Since when did I allow anything to get in the way of what I want to do?
There is still a bit of a pity party going on somewhere in the background, and the invitation to join in arrives in the post every morning. And to be honest, I have given in and slipped in the side door a couple of times. But I wasn’t happy there, and literally ran out before I could make any introductions.
Funny thing is, and I’m hoping someone can explain this to me, why when my head isn’t working right, am I still getting marketing and promotion ideas? I can understand why I have to keep writing, I don’t suppose I will ever be able to stop, even when I have to use dictation to get the words down on some kind of paper.
Of course, me being me, I am constantly worrying about everything, but I need to stop. I want to do what I can, when I can, and see what happens. Normal service might not be available, but I am going to try, see what works, and get on with it…

For some time now, I have spent my days trying so hard not to look backwards. This is not something I am guilty of in the first instance, so probably easier for me to do.

But that doesn’t mean I have been looking forward either. Desperately avoiding depression, I haven’t been looking anywhere in particular. Which has caused a rift, a vacant hole where daydreaming used to live.

I have always been a bit of a day dreamer. All my school reports say that about me, but I honestly believe that creativity lives in day dreams.

For the past six months, I have been concentrating so hard on getting stronger, especially now that my sister’s health has deteriorated even further than my own, and I am needed like never before.

So once again, no time for dreaming.

But yesterday, I slipped down the daydreaming well for a few minutes, and had a glimpse of our possible future. And what I saw, shook me to the core.

Much more of the same. Same struggle, procrastination and languishing books. Never having the time to create a marketing plan, or anything book related. Worst of all, I couldn’t see the current WIP being finished, and that really hurt.

Will this wake-up call get me back to how I used to be?

It seems like an impossible task, but then I used to be good with impossible. It was miracles I had trouble with…

love always

Jaye💕

—

by

Jaye Marie & Anita Dawes

in #Dark, #journal, #Magic, #Shadows, #Weather, beautiful things, blogging, disapointing, photography, sharing interests

We were really looking forward to the eclipse yesterday, though it was a shame it happened so late in the day. Hopefully, we might get to see something.

We started paying attention to the weather around 6 pm, and for the first hour, nothing much happened. Not having anything suitable to look through, we were judging the moon’s progress by the remaining brightness.

I was editing at the time, but had one eye on the window. I could have gone outside, but it was far too hot for that. My trusty portable fan was doing its best to keep me sane, so I was happy enough.

The next time I glanced at the window, the outside had changed. The relentless heat had been reduced to a glimmer, and the scene looked dated, like an old photograph. As I watched, the gloomy shadows grew until full twilight approached.

That was when I went outside. It was almost dark, so I figured I might get a glimpse of the eclipse.

But…

We live in a very busy, expanding town, buildings everywhere, so what was left of the sun was sliding down behind all the buildings and trees, playing peek-a-boo.

Disappointed, I went back indoors and consoled myself with the TV coverage. Spain had one of the best images of the final corona, so I did manage to see the eclipse in all its glory!

Honesty…

At the beginning of this year, I had already started writing my latest story. It had been on my mind for a while, and in my head at least, I had the bones of it already in place.

That’s when everything started to conspire against me.

Pain, paralysis and much confusion landed, and this is not the right atmosphere for writing.

But I persevered. It was the only thing keeping me going in the beginning, even though I have come to realise that what I was creating wasn’t really worth the paper it was written on.

For a long time, I didn’t want to admit to this. My life was a mess, but my writing was a lifeline, and surely the editing would take care of any problems?

But the more I tried to convince myself, the more I knew I was kidding myself.

It was when I reached the middle that I couldn’t ignore what was missing any longer. Where was the magic, the excitement? Unable to slow down, or God forbid, stop writing, I had been avoiding the truth. I had been staring at a half-written chapter for weeks, trying desperately to make it work.

What I didn’t realise at the time was this magic had been trying just as hard to make an appearance, and I had been ignoring what was right in front of me for weeks.

These last few days, something very odd has been happening every time I look at the manuscript. Something that will probably need a lot of patience and an awful lot of rewriting.

The magic is back!

This story opens with editor Lucy leaving the publisher she works for, to have lunch. Her friend Claude joins her and they chat about the meaning of life. Their lives, at least.

Lucy is looking for a special story, one that will bring some magic back to the world. Then her grandmother dies, leaving her everything, her wonderful house, money and belongings, including the magical library that Lucy loves so much.

She has also left instructions and an interesting job to do. Lucy loves to edit, find stories that will become best sellers, so this job will be a labour of love.

This is something I love to do too, so reading this enigmatic story was a joy…

While I was watching Comic Relief on TV a while back, I found myself coming face to face with myself..

A young girl was remembering her past, and as I listened, it was as though it was me talking.

She described my childhood so well that I had to choke back the tears.

I remembered all the inescapable loneliness, the constant hunger for food, and the utter hopelessness of it all. The times I would roam the streets of London at night, looking through people’s windows, searching desperately for a family who would take me in.

I was eight years old and didn’t know that what I was doing was very wrong. I needed so much, and this was all I could do.

No one ever stopped or accosted me. Sometimes someone would look as though they wanted to help me, but no one ever did.

Then, one glorious night, a front door opened, and a man asked me if I wanted something to eat. I didn’t know how dangerous this was. I honestly thought people were good; the only one who wasn’t was my mother.

These strangers welcomed me into their home, but somehow I knew it couldn’t last. The police arrived, and I was taken away.

I never stopped looking for a family, which is how I ended up being adopted by a family fifty years ago. They are not perfect, but they are my family now, and I adore them all.

But sometimes, my childhood haunts me still…

Another week is coming to an end, and once again, I am no nearer sorting my life out.

I am trying, but somehow, I get thwarted at every turn. The only thing I seem to be good at, is my daily physio, which is at least keeping me mobile.

I am usually able to come to terms with whatever life chucks at me, but being told that I am hopelessly broken and unfixable, was a tough thing to hear. I mean, what can you do with such a thing?

At first, I was determined to prove them wrong. I would fight to my back teeth to rise above their predictions. This is how I have lived my life. Telling me I cannot do something is likely to vanish in a puff of smoke when I set my mind to do it.

I don’t want to to believe that there is nothing I can do to change anything this time, and despite the futilty aspect, I can’t help thinking that I will get past this. Miracles do happen, even though I begin to doubt it on those bad days.

Coming to terms with this situation is taking some doing, but somehow, I just can’t just roll over and say ‘oh well’. Although there are days when I would dearly love to, I am still needed, so I can’t consider it.

At the moment, I am fixating on our website. There is a lot wrong with it, and somehow I have the feeling that if I can learn to fix it, everything else will get easier.

Does this sound like a plan, or am I kidding myself?

Have a glorious weekend folks…

Jaye xxx

I don’t usually dwell on anything I cannot do or have anymore. There have been so many this past year that I would be a basket case by now if I carried on about all of them.

I don’t know why this particular one has managed to sneak through, but here it is. I was watching TV, and an advert with bees was showing. As I watched, one of these bees was having a bath, sitting in a cloud of bubbles.

I was suddenly gripped with a strange longing. I wanted to climb into those bubbles and sink in the warm water.

It has been a while since I had a bath, due mainly to something that happened the last time I had one.

I was sitting there, enjoying the warmth of the water, scrubbing parts of myself with a sponge. I remember feeling very happy.

When it came time to step out, I found that I couldn’t get to my feet. I struggled for a while before letting the water out, thinking this would help. It didn’t. It made everything worse. I slipped and slid on the wet surface, and as I tried to figure out what was wrong. I had never had this problem before. My sister tried to help, which was hilarious.

I tried to turn over, thinking to try again on my knees, but this made matters worse.I must have eventually managed to get out of the bath, but how I did this has faded from my memory, but I have avoided having a bath ever since.

Since my paralysis early this year, I have not been able to shower either. The day I will feel safe enough to take a shower is coming soon, I’m sure. At the moment though, the idea of trying to wash myself while hanging on to the safety rail terrifies me.

In case you’re wondering, I make do with strip washes at the bathroom sink, sitting on the edge of the bath for support!

I will probably never be safe enough to take a bath, but I’m looking forward to a shower one of these days…

I don’t usually dwell on anything I cannot do or have anymore. There have been so many this past year that I would be a basket case by now if I carried on about all of them.

I don’t know why this particular one has managed to sneak through, but here it is. I was watching TV, and an advert with bees was showing. As I watched, one of these bees was having a bath, sitting in a cloud of bubbles.

I was suddenly gripped with a strange longing. I wanted to climb into those bubbles and sink in the warm water.

It has been a while since I had a bath, due mainly to something that happened the last time I had one.

I was sitting there, enjoying the warmth of the water, scrubbing parts of myself with a sponge. I remember feeling very happy.

When it came time to step out, I found that I couldn’t get to my feet. I struggled for a while before letting the water out, thinking this would help. It didn’t. It made everything worse. I slipped and slid on the wet surface, and as I tried to figure out what was wrong. I had never had this problem before. My sister tried to help, which was hilarious.

I tried to turn over, thinking to try again on my knees, but this made matters worse.I must have eventually managed to get out of the bath, but how I did this has faded from my memory, but I have avoided having a bath ever since.

Since my paralysis early this year, I have not been able to shower either. The day I will feel safe enough to take a shower is coming soon, I’m sure. At the moment though, the idea of trying to wash myself while hanging on to the safety rail terrifies me.

In case you’re wondering, I make do with strip washes at the bathroom sink, sitting on the edge of the bath for support!

I will probably never be safe enough to take a bath, but I’m looking forward to a shower one of these days…

How do you cope with things you can no longer do?