I feel the need to do a bit of blogging so here I am.
Today is the first day I'm weening myself off my anti-anxiety medication. So, you can be fully-warned of a potential mental slog to come... (and don't worry, I'm following doctor's orders!)
I live in Hannibal, MO. Right now I can look out from the upstairs windows of the Mark Twain Brewery and see the Mississippi River roll by. The Ice has cleared from it now. Up on Lover's Leap, an American flag waves - away to the right, passed a water tower and a few radio antennas, I can see the raised 'Hotel Mark Twain' letters. Over the speakers, cutting-edge indie music (now a decade old), has finally arrived here.
I wonder why I'm here. No, not that big of an existential rambling... but here, specifically. To be honest, I often feel conflicted between the life I'm building for myself here in this alien land, compared with what I know and love (and deeply miss) about life back in New Mexico. I'm the kinda guy who was raised to believe in a God of Providence... and I think that's part of why I'm writing today. Because I feel, still, so out of place here. I mean, I don't think if I could move back today that I'd feel much less not out of place in Albuquerque - just in different ways. I don't like feeling this way. It makes me feel lonely and separated.
Writing has forged a community for me over the years - but it's been years. While I can now introduce myself as a published author - and I have friends spanning several guilds and continents, it still feels distant. Removed, somehow. Like my heart watches it all through cafe windows down at the street below, day-dreaming about what it might someday be like to actually be apart of the happy, chattery gaggles of people passing by.
It's a curious existence. I don't like feeling conflicting feelings all at once (at least, not these ones). I do, however, have a sneaking suspicion that the loneliness I feel is a bit like feeling pain after you scrape your knee or step on legos. Yeah, it sucks - but it's also a hallmark of being Alive, and that's a good thing.
I don't think I'd ever know what it's like to 'make it'. I'm good at boxing away thoughts. Sometimes I think I've boxed things away so succinctly, it's hard to pull them out when they're called for. If you've read this far, and you like my books- whoa! Cool. (there are dozens of you, I swear!) - Sometimes I feel like authors have to have this impervious persona, where they're all gleaming and perfect - scripted. I'm not. (sorry, not sorry). If we've ever met in person, then you know I value relational honesty (hence my kilt and armor). Funny, how relational honesty is a hard thing to apply to ones self.
I ought to be writing more of the up-and-coming SciFi I've been commissioned to do (don't worry, I have not forgotten about my other various writing projects: The Grey King, Nameless, The Last Circle...) It's odd, but I've been finding lately that I start to get really anxious after writing for anything over about an hour and a half. And while I'm hoping it's just re-conditioning my writing muscles after a lazy holiday season, I'm still lagging.
So, I probably better get back at it. (or something) - Happy per-Feburary!