The football being persisently unavailable on the television, the mister and I began discussing me. More particularly, we began discussing me and the progress of my manuscript.
On my part, I was trying to understand why I have so little to show for all that time when I had not much to do but write, and now, all of a sudden, when I have just an hour or so a day things are coming together.
On his part, he couldn’t suggest a better topic of conversation so had to run with mine.
I was sort of moaning about having to go back to work this morning (our weekend is Friday and Saturday and for obvious reasons, we don’t get an Easter long weekend). More precisely, I was moaning that my writing time was already at an end. Why did I not have this drive and momentum last year when the only thing I had to do with my time was write?
The mister was very good about not rolling his eyes, although he let it be known that the conversation was only allowed to take a limited amount of his remaining weekend.
The coincidence of my gaining a job and writing momentum at the same time is not wholly inexplicable. For one thing, having a job has given me a structure that I did not have before. The mister thinks I have created an environment of ‘urgency’. Knowing the time is limited means I do not waste the time (though it does not completely wipe away the question of whether I can possibly work full time and finish a manuscript – the answer to that question is still some time away). For another, having a job has made me feel better about myself and I’m less inclined to flop on the couch feeling directionless and otherwise woe-is-me.
And, on top of everything else, I think maybe I was just not ready to write. Last year, I did manage to get the wordcount on my manuscript up pretty high – very high indeed – but the moment, I am enjoying putting red lines through a great number of those words because my, there are some angry bitter words in there.
There is a greater sense of calm this year. Not only in my words, but in the act of writing itself. I am writing with focus and direction and a sense of purpose that has nothing to do with being right or wronged.
This is not to say that I will take all of the anger out, nor is to pretend that all was rosy in my fair land. Only that I am enjoying writing about being angry, knowing that I’m not.
Looking back on anger is a most lightening feeling indeed.