My feral mind

Is it possible to lose words in one language if you’re speaking another 40 hours a week? I feel like my English vocabulary is now a casualty of my French-language job and grow frustrated with my reliance on a thesaurus to clear the cobwebs and reminding me of words I’ve always known. I just hope my sub-par command of the English language didn’t carry over into my second packet, which should be in the hands of my mentor now. Gulp. I’m pretty sure I crushed the craft essay, though it was strange to analyze my own mentor’s book! Fiction-wise, for this submission, I plowed forward instead of revising–at my mentor’s recommendation–and tried to get into the meat of the story. I’m worried, though, that I was either too cold or melodramatic with the emotional portions. Guess we’ll see.

Besides that, I now have two ideas for other novels I would like to write…one of which may or may not involve a lesbian werewolf. It’s sounding pretty awesome, so I’ll write some and see where it goes. I always wanted to wait 10 years, write a vampire/monster book, and hit it big like someone always does every generation. Maybe this is my gold mine…

…Or, much more likely, this idea is merely my feral mind resisting routine and structure. It’s like Natalie Goldberg explains in Writing Down the Bones: writing is a practice, a form of meditation. And just as my mind wanders when I try to clear it for meditation, so it does when I try to focus on one idea for a novel. First, I think I need a new computer, or a desk, or a space outside my house. And then the familiar doubt creeps in that my focus is in the wrong place, that I’m writing the wrong story.

But if “write the story you’re afraid to tell” is to be my guidepost, I know this is the story I’m meant to tell at this point, werewolves be damned.

…and then life happened.

So, my first packet may be a little late. I’ve talked to my mentor, and he’s fine with it. Of course he is; he’s awesome. But I’m disappointed.

I hit my “life limit” this week when my partner got into a car accident. She’s fine, but my car isn’t. It was the other driver’s fault, so either way it’s all paid for, but bureaucracy overwhelms me. There isn’t much that has to be done, but just the thought of doing it makes me want to hide under the covers until spring.

Luckily, I have tomorrow off: the beauty of working in a school (even if said school is another piece of the pressure and stress right now). The game plan is to land myself a rental car and finish up the final few pages of my packet and craft essay. If I can get it in the mail by Thursday, I could still make my “first week of February” deadline.

On a sidenote: I’m worried that this blog is just going to be self-conscious rants about how little faith I have in myself. Something about writing brings out that “I’m not good enough” side of me. But being this scared means I’m on to something important, I think.