A smoky dawn–not nearly so red as other years’ haze, and we’re not having the ash fall in this part of the county. Eastward it’s a mess, naturally, and we’re all watching the evacuation orders carefully. There’s not much risk in the precise place our particular house is, but we’re preparing to offer shelter if necessary.
I like helping people, but I hate that it’s necessary because of greedy corporate bastards frying the planet. At least there are some competent folks in disaster response, and at least this is happening after some of the infrastructure repair money has been applied. So here I sit, trembling on the knife edge of “thank the gods this isn’t happening two years ago.” And they say there will be rain by the end of the week.
Gods willing and the creek don’t fail completely, to coin a phrase.
Having to just sit and wait is a particular type of hell. Sartre covered the most common type, naturally, but I think a case could be made that having to hold oneself ready and braced for the next punch is just as awful.
In any case, I sent off the revised Cold North. Revision brain still has me in its mushy, Swiss-cheese grip. I’ll probably do some narration today, since I can get that done in 20min chunks and reading aloud doesn’t use any creation or revision muscles. I do have to get a thorough top-to-bottom reread of Hell’s Acre in, since we’re on the last half of the last book. That duology might not ever be published; writing it all through pandemic has done the story a bit of disservice. Certain passages remind me of how upset I was while writing them.
I should also get the monthly newsletter planned. There’s all sorts of things to talk about, from That Damn Werelion Book to this month’s sale(s) to the upcoming release. I’m fighting the imposter syndrome which always arrives after I finish a draft or revision, letting the wave pass over and through me. I know it’s just the physical, emotional, and mental exhaustion of finishing a large project, and snapback is natural.
It sucks each time.
If I’m very good today, I’ll allow myself another episode or two of Love Like the Galaxy. Leo Wu’s cape game is on point the entire way through, and I’m low-key obsessed with the entire story. I have to set myself some arbitrary goal to accomplish before I can watch more, though. That way the work will get done and I’ll get a double dopamine hit of watching a drama and knowing I made it to a benchmark. Gaming one’s own brain chemistry is the only way to survive, my friends.
If I can just get through until dusk I’ll call it a win. At least it won’t be 80F today. Summer keeps attempting to burn, but the harvest goddess has probably had about enough of All This. I roundly concur.
Let us embark upon Monday, my beloveds. At least by evening we should have some breathable air…