A six and a half hour nap bracketed by the Robert Downey Jr. and Jude Law Sherlock Holmes movies has helped restore some perspective. That, and some ice cream.
Every artist has those moments when she looks at her art and despairs. It isn't Star of Justice so much. That book is done, and I'm trying to move on.
Price of Justice has me climbing walls. Mom suggested I stop writing it, but that's impossible. It's my next book. You'll all just have to bear with me when the compost that is my initial draft overwhelms my sense of perspective.
What you must understand, dear reader, is that ultimately my writing is my responsibility. I can have the best crit group in the world, the best editors, the best publisher, even the best intentions, but it all boils down to "what will I do with this story?"
That isn't arrogance. I can ask "what do you think I should do?" but you'll give me your opinion, not the answer to life, the universe and everything. If I ask that question of every person, I have, at best, a democratic parody where the majority rules and, at worst, a different opinion for every person I ask. What am I supposed to do with that?
I don't want to write by majority rule. I have to work out my own problems in my own way and that's all there is, really.
I'm just not accustomed to feeling so lost so early. Oh well. Inward and upward.
On a brighter note, God gave me one of those little treasures I seek. A moth flew into my car on Saturday, a big, brown moth that went right under my dashboard where I didn't have a hope in heaven of finding it and getting it out to continue its short life. Tears flowed until I looked up and discovered the moth fluttering against the passenger side window, waiting to be released. A silly thing, yes, but it's my silly thing. Thank You, Lord.
Thank you, too, for my friends who took a moment to support me. I love you guys. I'm doing better.