Sweet Summer Child

So. A progress report. “Progress on what, Zig?” DAMMIT, LEMME WRITE. Look, I’m stressed, you’re stressed, everybody except Idras Elba is stressed. That’s an unavoidable fact. I wrap you in my arms in apology. I stroke your hair. If you’re bald, I’m all about that pate. Here’s what’s going on:

The publishing industry, so top heavy yet shrunken at the root, continues to wither the self-esteem of writers the world over, but writers keep writing. I, too, am Spartacus: I completed the first book in a cozy fantasy trilogy last year and, as of now, am three-quarters done with #2. TAKE YOUR SCATALOGICAL JOKES ELSEWHERE, INTERNET. As usual, while writing I have no grasp of the book’s commercial viability (much like modern marketing departments). I am Atreyu riding a floof dragon, completely unaware of horse issues ahead.

Tito, bring me some tissues.

So far I love this WIP.  I love the first book. I anticipate loving the 3rd. Once the trilogy is over, there’s a strong chance I’ll return to the Jetstreams universe.

Oh, and I got a story in F&SF.

Which is like snagging the New Yorker of genre, only with actual good stories. I said what I said. As it’s kind of a big deal, I celebrate that career progress.

Career. Career sounds weird. I never actually think of this as a career. I never will. But for me, that’s because it was always erroneously ingrained in younger me that a career was never something that was truly a part of you, it was just somewhere you fit in, no matter how good you were at it or how long you’d been doing it. You did it, you came home, and it was done. But writing never goes away. Even staring at birds doing Olympic horizontal bar along my railing constitutes writing. There are days, plenty of them, when putting the dishes away constitutes writing. It ain’t easy out here for a proser. “Career” took the form of working at a radio station, working at a television station, working at an archive, working at an ad club…while writing. But the goal of my writing was to provide for others (materially), never myself. Yes, I wanted world literary domination, supple book groupies, and Oprah emailing me breathlessly about when my next book was coming out, but that was so I could have a house where my mother could live out her old age, to pad the bank account so the nieces and nephews wouldn’t worry about affording college, to ensure sure my friends took vacations, that kind of thing. Me, I was just the little engine that could behind my writing. I never wanted to stand in front of the words with a metaphorical briefcase and tie, then sit them down, done, till the next day.

Fortunately, self-definitions change.

I have my outdoor birds, I have my tree limbs and rain, I find comfort in coming up with phrases at damn odd times. The creative engine’s erratic schedule is something to appreciate. What is the phrase? “It is a feature, not a bug.” Maybe I have what others would consider a career; I don’t chafe at that. I know I’m damn good at what I do (insert Wolverine claw *snickt* here) and will accept due remuneration for it. I will celebrate the wins. I will put my F&FS contributor copy behind glass with a ful-on “Break glass in case of uncool” vibe. Which I have. I will start to think that maybe, just maybe…there’s something for me here. Something alongside the creative joy. A growing sense of self-respect. A growing sense of duty. A healthier tension between art and commerce. I will never need a $100,000 dollar watch, but time on a quiet patch of beach with a hammock?  Yes please. And approaching that quietude not as fantasy but as goal? Progress. Which always comes from the inside out, never handed externally.

So. What am I working on? In addition to the fantasy trilogy, a new short story collection. Two collections, actually. One with all new stories, one a mix of new and reprints. Then there’ll be the 3rd Jetstreams book, then an epic about an alchemist and a priestess. I’m doing all this with a fading memory plus word loss, so bear with me. Progress might be slow but it’s coming.

Sweet summer children always head into autumn. I kinda feel like I’m appreciating the changing colors of the leaves in an exciting, affirming way. If I see something especially cool, I will most definitely and assuredly file a giddy report.