Creative visualisation is all very well - but it's a bit useless and the reality is often disappointing!
Last week, before the End of Christmas Party, I saw myself bouncing up on Monday to the bank to sort out finances etc. then I thought I would tidy away all the Christmas stuff. Then I imagined I would get to grip with planting the last few bulbs. On Tuesday I was going to be getting back to the books.
Life is what happens when you're making other plans, and life engineered a car break down, some wet miserable weather, a hangover, and so on. I managed to remove some of the decorations. All the Christmas tree ones. On Tuesday I cadged a lift to WW with Clare - we ended up having lunch (omlette and mixed veg - butternut squash, mushrooms and spinach) and frequent cups of tea and conversation. It was very cheery and energising. I had only put on 2.5 lbs over Christmas - so that wasn't too bad. I was expecting to go to the Society of Authors do, but the car precluded it. So... another evening in, somewhat marred by the fact that I felt very ill - constipated, light headed, dizzy, grumpy, aches and pains. God knows why my bowels have chosen to misbehave - they're usually terribly reliable (TMI?) - but I read on the NHS website that it can be caused by anxiety and depression.
This morning I intended to change my plans - and work on Conscience and to submit that to 10 agents instead of submitting TRF until I'd had a little more time, and Tara's feedback... I felt the proximity of WWI centenary was a good thing for marketing purposes. I ploughed in to read the first 3 chapters and found I'd already done some work on them - and saw that it was good. However, halfway through the project I felt so grim I had to go back to bed. I slept for a few hours, got up, had another row with Mark (I got up to do something about making him supper - even though I was ill!) and he started moaning at me. He then apologised, but this is the second row today.
I am not Little Miss Sunshine just now - but he seems to be worse. I found myself listening to him this morning and thinking "how can I possibly carry on like this?" But behind that thought is the "creative visualisation" that things could be better in a smaller, tidier house on my own, or with Finn (Ned being off to university). But some of the problems are related to my own anxieties, indolence - writing is more agreeable than housework - and easier to do when you're feeling under the weather. And anyway, I have no money. Perhaps I need to give myself another deadline - get a novel with a publisher by the end of the year or give up and find a job. I jokingly look at job pages in the papers - there really aren't any. Maybe I should go to the private job agency in town, see if I can get a bit of temping. We don't have any students at present, and no prospect of any. And it's hardly peak time for tourists! In some ways I feel as if this will be a "make or break" year - but I don't know if that's just the misery talking.
Last night I dreamed TRF was being published - and I thought "that's fantastic - that's within the two years" - this being the notional 2 years I anticipated in October 2011 - no, not anticipated "heard" - but did I hear from the deceptive voice?
Last week, before the End of Christmas Party, I saw myself bouncing up on Monday to the bank to sort out finances etc. then I thought I would tidy away all the Christmas stuff. Then I imagined I would get to grip with planting the last few bulbs. On Tuesday I was going to be getting back to the books.
Life is what happens when you're making other plans, and life engineered a car break down, some wet miserable weather, a hangover, and so on. I managed to remove some of the decorations. All the Christmas tree ones. On Tuesday I cadged a lift to WW with Clare - we ended up having lunch (omlette and mixed veg - butternut squash, mushrooms and spinach) and frequent cups of tea and conversation. It was very cheery and energising. I had only put on 2.5 lbs over Christmas - so that wasn't too bad. I was expecting to go to the Society of Authors do, but the car precluded it. So... another evening in, somewhat marred by the fact that I felt very ill - constipated, light headed, dizzy, grumpy, aches and pains. God knows why my bowels have chosen to misbehave - they're usually terribly reliable (TMI?) - but I read on the NHS website that it can be caused by anxiety and depression.
This morning I intended to change my plans - and work on Conscience and to submit that to 10 agents instead of submitting TRF until I'd had a little more time, and Tara's feedback... I felt the proximity of WWI centenary was a good thing for marketing purposes. I ploughed in to read the first 3 chapters and found I'd already done some work on them - and saw that it was good. However, halfway through the project I felt so grim I had to go back to bed. I slept for a few hours, got up, had another row with Mark (I got up to do something about making him supper - even though I was ill!) and he started moaning at me. He then apologised, but this is the second row today.
I am not Little Miss Sunshine just now - but he seems to be worse. I found myself listening to him this morning and thinking "how can I possibly carry on like this?" But behind that thought is the "creative visualisation" that things could be better in a smaller, tidier house on my own, or with Finn (Ned being off to university). But some of the problems are related to my own anxieties, indolence - writing is more agreeable than housework - and easier to do when you're feeling under the weather. And anyway, I have no money. Perhaps I need to give myself another deadline - get a novel with a publisher by the end of the year or give up and find a job. I jokingly look at job pages in the papers - there really aren't any. Maybe I should go to the private job agency in town, see if I can get a bit of temping. We don't have any students at present, and no prospect of any. And it's hardly peak time for tourists! In some ways I feel as if this will be a "make or break" year - but I don't know if that's just the misery talking.
Last night I dreamed TRF was being published - and I thought "that's fantastic - that's within the two years" - this being the notional 2 years I anticipated in October 2011 - no, not anticipated "heard" - but did I hear from the deceptive voice?
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