Unbound (All Good Things #1) Available on Amazon/Smashwords/Unknown (All Good Things #2) coming soon.

Sunday, 23 February 2014

Navel Gazing 4.0

To weep is to make less the depth of grief ― William Shakespeare 

Tears: Sometimes I think my life can be split into two parts, PK (pre-kiddo), and AK (after-kiddo). PK, I was made of stone. I rarely cried in my real life, never mind shedding tears over a plot line. It wasn't that I didn't feel sad, of course I did. I just didn't cry. AK, I weep. A lot. I weep when I think of sad things. I weep when I watch sad movies and television shows. And I definitely weep when I read sad books. So you can guess what kind of state I was in after reading The Fault in our Stars by John Green this week, right? There were tears during and there were tears after. I don't regret my ability to access my sadness in a more physical way now. In fact, I kind of like it. After a good long cry I feel somehow…sated. As if the act of crying has somehow helped to shape and contain the sadness it was connected to. I've always envied people who cry easily and while it's still difficult for me to cry at the drop of the hat, it's easier now than it used to be. And that's nothing to cry about. 

Patience: I'm about halfway through writing Unknown, the second book in my All Good Things trilogy. I'm enjoying the process of writing this book and so far, I've been pleased with what I've learned along the way. But there's a part of me that is itching to move on. Not to leave Rachel and Eaden behind for good (there will be a book three at some point, I promise you), but because there are other ideas starting to push to the front of the line. I'm trying to breathe deeply through these urges to start another project because frankly, I just don't think I'd be able to multitask (see Balance) well enough to stay sane. Instead, I'm trying to see this as my opportunity to practice patience. I think it requires the kind of faith I don't always have - faith that there is ENOUGH of everything. Time, opportunity, resources. I'll let you know how it turns out. 

And Ronan was everything that was left: molten eyes and a smile made for war. - Maggie Stiefvater

 3. The Dream Thieves: Maggie Stiefvater FOR THE WIN! You know I loved The Raven Boys, right? Did you hear my satisfied sigh as I closed The Dream Thieves? This is Ronan's book, through and through. It's not just the story, and it's not just the characters, and it's not just the writing. But somehow the fusion between these three results in one of the most riveting books I've come across in a long time. I"m getting dangerously close to fangirl status with these characters (and I know I'm not alone - looking at you SQV). 

 4. Book club: Is it okay to admit I'm a book club virgin? I've always wanted to be part of one - never had the right opportunity. So when one of my friends suggested we start our own, I was thrilled. I was lucky enough to choose our first read and I've selected something YA, naturally. The funny thing is I have no idea what book club really entails. In my book club fantasies, there is wine and food and warm lighting and laughter. And of course, talk about books. My experience with these wonderful women is that we could discuss grocery lists and still have a good time, but I'm also look forward to book talk. 

 5. Balancing Act: Earlier this week I came across this video that suggests that "busy is the new fine." It's not the first time I've been called to take stock of how I fill my time and it  likely won't be the last. The hardest part about making my life less busy is trying to figure out what I would give up. In some ways, it's an embarrassment of riches. I love my family, I love my friends, I love my job, I love to write, I love to read. But trying to fit them all in a way that makes sense is hard. I think I'm managing better than I ever have before, but I realize that as life long Type A, that might not mean very much. Instead, I've adopted the idea that there will always be something I neglect, no matter how hard I try. The trick might be to ensure that no one part of my life is neglected more than any other part. Deep down, I think I stubbornly resist the idea that I can't do it all. Why can't I? Or at least, why can't I try? 

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