My title is more than the weather, though. This year feels like that old cliche “out of the frying pan, into the fire.” While plot complications are great for fictional stories, they truly suck eggs when it comes to real life.
I’m no adrenaline junkie. I’ve surely proved that by now. So when my life speeds up or changes direction or generally hits any kind of bump, I tend to react badly. Call it a turtle trait. We don’t change direction well.
I’ve hit quite a few bumps this year. Some of them I’ve shared. Some I won’t. Some I may share later. Suffice it to say, I’m feeling the heat. Makes it hard to keep a sense of humor, although mine emerges in fits and starts.
I want so very much to make this a funny post. Seems like forever since I had one of those. My fake obituary, probably. I just don’t have it in me to kill myself again, even for your amusement, dear readers. My sincere apologies.
It’s not fair, really. Douglas Adams was a nihilist and I couldn’t catch my breath reading Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. It must have caught up with him during Mostly Harmless. Either that, or he really did have a teenage daughter driving him to homicidal daydreams about destroying Earth. Teenage daughters can do that to otherwise sane people. Teenage nieces are hard enough.
I’m also confused as to why this particular bout of pressure does not seem to be leading to any correlating bout of creative writing on my part. When I wrote Star of Justice, I had a dog dying of congestive heart failure and a mom dealing with pre-cancer in her remaining breast. Elementals created its own kind of pressure. Some days I would have preferred literal labor over delivering those chapters.
Pressure existed and I wrote it out. Why isn’t that happening this time?
Not a clue. But my sequels won’t write themselves, so I better find a way to use this funk or shake it off.
Just remembered Sonic M&M blasts used to help. I’ll start there.