I have moved.
In what must be a personal record, everything in the apartment was more or less settled into its final destination within three days. There remained some various sundry miscellany for a few days. Some small amount remains still, but not so much that I am driven to the point of madness.
Securing a connection to the Internet was another matter entirely. As much as I hate to admit it, the trouble did not lie entirely with my internet service provider, who I shall not publicly disparage. I might disparage the online seller who insisted the modem we bought would work with the ISP, however. But in the end, it matters not, because I am online and good to go.
The apartment setup allows me to have a room dedicated (for the most part) to my work. This should go a long way toward allowing me to cultivate the proper brainspace necessary to be creative on demand. I have heard that creativity is not a faucet, to be turned on whenever the creator wishes, but that philosophy, while quaint, is not particularly helpful for one hoping to make a living at it.
Life is too short to sit around insisting that Teh Muse to pee into a cup and then waiting around for lab results to verify its blood-creativity levels. (I think that little Miss Muse courts dehydration just to make that whole process more difficult for me.)
The office will be my workplace. Wait, scratch that, the Office is my Workplace.
Understanding that this is conceptually what I want to accomplish is easy. Accepting and adopting this mentality is another thing entirely.
It helps that I have started a freelancing gig. This will require me to spend some time at my computer, and accomplish things that turn into money sooner than I can expect any of my fiction to do so. I think that, in a small way, this job will help me realize that my work does matter.
The head games are sometimes too difficult to manage. On those days, it is difficult to squeeze out my bare minimum of writing work that I allow. Fortunately, my bare minimum has been steadily increasing over the last year, so I tend to accomplish something even when I feel like I am faltering. That allows me to look back at those days on a day when I’m feeling better about life, the universe, and everything and realize that, yeah, I am making progress.
I do not know how much work I will get with this freelancing side of things, but in think I will take what I can get so long as it does not wash out my true goal. I need to finish editing my work from before and I really need to keep going on the novel I started in November. At this point, I cannot wait around much longer without continuing the novel or else I will have no choice but to admit that I am stalled. The book is sitting right around ‘mushy middle’ territory. That means starting up might be more difficult, but I have a sneaking suspicion that my break might force me to set some explosives and blow my way out of the middle and to the ending. It might end up being better because of this break.
Finishing edits on the other book is a more daunting prospect. I submitted the first section of the book to a publisher, and that is coming up on six months waiting for a reply. I do not know what that means — they hated it! they loved it! they didn’t care enough about it to bother with a response! — or if it means anything at all. Probably the latter. An open submission time means that their readers will be busy for some time to come, as the publisher is pretty popular.
The waiting is fine. I can cope with that. It’s the ASKING that drives me up the wall. Once I ask, and once they reply, there’s no more room for doubt.
Well, it does not really matter. If I am to stick to the professional aspect of my desired ‘professional writer’ career goal, then I need to do the professional act of sending out a query letter, no matter my trepidation.
Now I just need to talk myself into believing that any response is better than no response.
Well, that, and figure out what in the world a query letter actually is.