A Day To Rest
Last night, after I finished the draft zero of FC, the Selkie picked me up and we hopped out to the Martian Mooncrab‘s*. She had a dresser that will be good for the Princess, since the Princess’s old one has endured many years of hard use and just finally gave up the ghost. (Or at least, one of its drawers did.) So, big thanks to the Mooncrab, who also plied us with goodies. And I got to see her lair, which is full of books. You may think my house is full of books, but hers leaves mine in the dust. It was a cornucopia, and I was agog at the shelves.
How bad is it that when I go to someone’s house, the bookshelves are the first thing I go to? I want to know what furniture is knocking around inside their heads. And the siren song of booooooooks is very hard to resist. (It’s like the siren song of struuuuuudel. *winks at JM*)
Today is a day off. I don’t have to work out (a relief, since this week’s upping in intensity is kicking my bum but good) and I’ve finished an initial draft, so the Muse usually declares a holiday the day after and lets me poke around at other stuff without really doing much of anything. The work is still going on inside my head–nothing will stop that, I’m afraid–but today I need the huge wheel that was spinning madly providing impetus for a Jill book to wind down and come to a halt. I’m getting better at this bouncing-back thing. Finishing a book used to just destroy me. Now I take a day or two off and get back up on the horse. Deadlines help–I don’t have the luxury of sitting on my thumbs. But I think I’m learning to be a bit gentler on myself.
It’s about damn time. I’m tired of chewing myself to bits.
The Teen sent me a link to a bunch of BBC mind/personality tests, and we’ve been having fun doing those. My brain, according to the “What Sex Is Your Brain?”, is right dead in the middle between male and female. I do not attach much importance to a quiz I can do online, but it was hilarious. I announced “I’m a bloody hermaphrodite!” into the evening silence of everyone reading and the Little Prince playing quietly with his cars.
This household being what it is, the announcement was greeted with one “Hmmm” and one not-very-interested “Really?”
Yeah, not much disturbs our serenity around here. *snerk*
The other test that was thought-provoking was the “are you a perfectionist” quiz, which seemed to be three-quarters full of questions about what one’s parents expected of one. It made me think of why I push myself so unforgivingly hard. It was kind of a shock to realize, Yes, I was never good enough.
In some ways I suspect I will never feel “good enough” or like I’ve achieved enough to be loved. Which is sad, because the measure of love should be the inherent worth of a person as a person, not achievement–or more damaging, “I will love you if you do ______ for me.” Part of my revolt against the way I was raised is the hard work I’ve done to 1) never use corporal punishment and 2) let my kids know that loving them for themselves is the baseline that is never going to change. I might get angry at something they’ve done, but I am not angry at THEM. It is a critical distinction and one that I hope means they don’t feel a huge yawning emptiness laced with pain and terror when they think of their childhood.
And truth be told I have rarely even had to raise my voice with my methods, let alone spank anyone. Even the Teen, who occasionally acts out as all kids do, is responsive to the other methods–things like time out, like responsibility, like clear communication and the distinction between loving the child and deploring the deed. He’s finally beginning to relax and grasp that here he is valued just-because, and not because he’s going to be the carrier of his parents’ unfulfilled dreams, or a chit in the war between them.
We talk about it sometimes–the damage a parent can do by pushing their unfulfilled dreams off onto a child, or by using a child as a bargaining counter. Children are not meant to bear such burdens. Growing up is hard, and it’s hard to be a little person in a big world. Why make it harder for them?
I find myself being able to say to him some of the things I wish someone would have said to me at that age, and it’s an opportunity for healing to both of us.
Sometimes, when you save a life, you end up saving your own as well. Sometimes.
Anyway, today is a day to lay on the floor and stare at the ceiling while the Little Prince uses my hair as a freeway for Lilliputian cars. Or watching terrible movies with the kids. And baking–I have a cherry-pecan loaf I want to try, as well as more cranberry-walnut bread. There will be reading and playing games and perhaps some video gaming if I feel really ambitious.
Tomorrow is early enough to start on the revisions for Weasel Boy, which is the next project scheduled. After that’s revised and sent off FC will be cold enough for me to whack at it and get it into a workable first-draft for the beta. Then there’s short stories and a YA novel to plug at.
But all that is tomorrow. Today, my dears, I am enjoying a well-deserved (or at least, a necessary-for-sanity) rest.
* For those just joining us, yes, these are pseudonyms. I do not use real names in my journal unless the person is a public person.
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