2017 is almost over. After tomorrow the new year starts. I don't remember how very quickly the year went by. First it was winter and then it became spring and then summer, which seemed endless and yet it never became very apparent that the year was flying by. Lots of milestones, such as - getting out of the 9-5 hour workday world, finally setting up my business, arranging for my financial stuff so I can live off my savings and use them to publish my two books, and then finally getting the books published and working now on - what?
The "WHAT" is the question. I need to sit back and find out some of the things that are still niggling at me. Losing the weight that came on my girth, finding the right attitude, learning to relax and find time to spend as someone whose time is hers to do and not to do, and then finally planning on the books to write and attending the conferences where my publisher wishes I would go.
The other question is whether I really wish to be a writer. I have no other means to support myself, rather than write. I don't care to be a technical writer - that deadens one's creative spark, all those phrases "it has been shown to support the safety and efficacy of..." are not in my vocabulary now. It is still something that can be done, now, if one would come and see if I could, in a pinch, help them with their stuff.
Do I want to write? Yes. Do I want to publish? Maybe. I don't like to publish when the investment comes only from me. Do you get me? I am creating more than publishing, I am deep in the weeds of words, and that is fine. But talk about publishing - I think I want to leave it to those who can and have the resources. My resources are finite. They may last the year or more, but at the rate the books are selling there needs to be more to push at something, whatever that may be.
So I've decided to write, but then I just must tell God that this is where it's at. God, if You're listening, this is where it is. I can't think too much now about the future. I leave it in Your capable hands. Whatever comes my way is Your Gift. And I will be happy and content.
Some people I know (not including my relatives) worry about this complaisancy that I have. I don't have any real plans to do much more than write. I have three things that have strings hanging down, like a piece of macrame, trying to entice me to start getting the strings into words and characters and paragraphs. But, I guess it's just my attitude that still shirks from it. If I finish one, would it be good enough to shop into literary agencies? I suppose so. My current publisher told me that once a book of mine is published, that this would lend 'credence' to my abilities.
We will test that hypothesis, for sure. I suppose, being a trained scientist (which doesn't mean that I am good at it), the hypothesis needs to be tested and we shall see who of all agents will find something in my work that will be "ka-ching" to her/his ears.
Money makes the world go round. It ought not to be the thing to work the world. Love should make the world go round. I mean, really, what does a dollar bill do? It doesn't make babies, surely. Or lovemaking. No, not like you're paying a whore to do something that doesn't mean much after everything is done.
Why did I get to this point of money and love and all that? That's a question I will have to address sometime later.
Right now, I need to feed my dog and give him his meds. Then maybe tackle the snow on my driveway. And then, with all that I could ruminate on scenes for my next book.
Or, I could offer it up to God and say, "Here's the thing, I don't care a damn today about the fact that the next year is 2018. I suppose He won't like that. I suppose one could say "Don't complain." I won't complain. I am totally totally at loose ends and somebody needs to tie my loose ends up for me. One of them might be the service to shovel my drive. The other would be my banker (Hey, Mary, we found money for you!), and the other would be a bookkeeper who will need to take all my receipts and peacefully lay them on her prim desk and make sense of what the year was all about. Mostly paper and notebooks and pens, ha. The last one to tie ends for me would have to be an angel who will lead me through the path of righteousness, putting a hand on my fevered brow (lol) and telling me to shut the hell up.