And here we are at Day 18 of Camp NaNoWriMo and NaPoWriMo 2014. It is a surprisingly nice day here in Colorado, and I miraculously ended up not having to watch my nephew today. Sadly, it isn’t a day off. I’m supposedly editing a manuscript which I grossly underestimated the timeline on so I am facing a ton of work with a very close deadline. Does this mean I can focus on it? No. Exhaustion from the week and the flaring of allergies makes the day annoying.
I underestimated the timeline due to my nephew. This is the first novel manuscript I have received since his birth. Editing work, for the last six months, has been short stories, novellas, and chapbooks. Normally, I would already be done with the manuscript but the nephew is very time consuming. Even with my sister, nephew, and brother-in-law gone for a week and a half, progress has been slow going. Their absence was barely noted as I dealt with the drama from other things they had setup to have done during that time, and other issues from other things I work/deal with. I had wanted time to edit, write, and relax but no, never happened.
I, now, know I need to adjust my timelines for future editing work in order to reduce the undercurrent of panic I am feeling. I edit to help pay the bills. I am really good at it – I use to do a lot of auditing work which comes in handy in editing – but I’d rather leave it by the wayside in favor of writing.
I’m taking time out of editing right now because of a realization. To understand this realization, there needs to be a bit of backstory… I do not understand emotions in the overall sense. I have them but I am oddly detached from them. I’ll cry at a drop of a hat yet I have zero idea as to why I cry. Happy is like this bizarre twitch under my skin I just want to get rid of. There are moments where I know I should be mad but I cannot express it properly. I usually just cry in order to ‘flush’ out whatever the discomfort is. The only thing I truly understand is pain. I know that one oh so well and I wish I didn’t. I also understand paranoia and anxiety to an alarming degree. Through my poetry, I apparently understand longing or so others tell me. I honestly have no idea what at least 70% of my poems mean or imply. I really detest the question, ‘What does your poem mean?’, for this reason.
To today’s realization, these photos of this tiny house showed up on my Facebook feed. I thought, I really like that design. With a few minor tweaks, I could see myself living in one of those. I had this feeling about these images that I could not place. I mulled it over for a while. Napped on it then it hit me. I know what I was feeling. It has been so long since I had felt that kind of emotion that it wasn’t recognizable. It was unadulterated heady lust. The kind of lust that binds characters, in paranormal romance and erotica novels, to their destined mates. The kind of lust which drives them to madness should their mates be in danger. Pure, perfect, and all consuming.
My dream of having a tiny house has transformed into this lust. I am not surprised by this, however, as my kenophobia (fear of large/empty spaces) has gotten far worse since moving in with my sister, nephew, and brother-in-law. I may have a “small” room here but 90% of my time is spent in the rest of the 3300+ square foot house.
The “small” room is actually large enough where I could put a decently sized kitchen (sink, work surface, stove, and fridge), my queen sized bed, my 5 foot long desk, and a small sofa into it if arranged properly. Add in the bathroom, a small portion of the closet, and the little square hall between the bedroom door and the bathroom door, it becomes the perfect little cabin with ample space despite all it holds. It would probably even fit a stackable washer and dryer. What can be done with the “small” room has made me even more aware of how I could easily live in a tiny house with my beloved feline overlord. (I miss my Anubis cat so much. I miss my Iah pig too but not as much as my Anubis.) I still need to downsize my possessions some more but they are in the manageable range now.
I will be completely debt-free next month – at least two years ahead of schedule thanks to the selling of the flood-damaged house – but money remains an issue as I do not wish to go into debt again to achieve my tiny house dreams. However, I cannot stay in this huge house much longer. Having free room and board is very nice but it has meant too much sacrifice in regards to my privacy, well-being, and writing time.
A local tiny house builder, who’s homes are surprisingly affordable all things considered, is offering a chance at getting half of a house financed with possible income later but one needs to put down 50% cash up front. This offer comes with the requirement of letting folks tour the house once a month for about four hours. The projected income received from this ($500 to $1000 a month or so they claim) goes to the loan but, once the loan is paid off, the tours can stop or they can continue and the money goes to the homeowner. It sounds like a decent deal to me even though I do not like people in my personal space.
At my current income rate, it would take me a year or so to come up with that kind of down payment, if I am very lucky, unless miracles happen like I get a huge influx of clients with novels to edit, massively increased book sales, and my listed books & other items on half.com & etsy.com sell.
Writers and editors do not make a lot of money which is why I diversify. I know a lot of people who keep telling me that as soon as they publish a book, they are going to be making a lot of money, and they cannot wait to make a living as an author. It doesn’t work like that. It really doesn’t. The average author doesn’t start making money until their 10th book maybe. If you write for a niche, it might be right away, it might not. It is extremely rare for authors to find them in the position like JK Rowling and Stephenie Meyer where money is just throwing itself at them. I know this very well but I remain hopeful that one day my writing will start bringing in a nice income. Of course, I didn’t start publishing my work to make money. I did it to share the beauty of words. Money would just be a nice perk and a means to achieve a goal of being able to write full time without editing or worrying about how I am going to pay the basic bills each month.
Looking back over the last few months, today wasn’t the first time I had felt lust toward an idea/concept. The previous time was about two months ago. I was sorting through my writing files, current works in progress, and future writing ideas. All I wanted – and what I still want – is to shut myself away and just write until all of my works in progress were entirely done. This prospect is just too tempting. It is another goal I am striving for although the lust for it is not as strong as the one for a tiny house right now.
Now that I have over-shared my thoughts for the day, a status update.
Editing might be kicking my butt with reckless abandon but it has nothing on Camp NaNoWriMo/NaPoWriMo 2014. Oh I keep cranking out those poems – which are surprisingly great – despite missing Days 12, 13, 14, and 15 but progress amuses me not. I must remind myself constantly that this is the most writing I have done since November 2013. It is going to hurt. There’s a lot going on constantly which puts me off my creative game. Kenophobia is a huge stumbling block in the creative process. I just need to find new ways to cope so I can get back on an even keel. There’s not enough words to express the many ways that PTSD is mucking all over my days, much less my art. Must remind myself every second of the day…
For Day 16, there is Quicksand, a piece for Xenium & Xyris.
Day 17 has Scrolling, a piece for Nightmares & Nevermore, which expresses some of my present writing frustrations.
Day 18’s offering is Magpie, a piece for Zephyr & Zinc and testament to my intellectual nature – much to the chagrin of my family. They think I am a smartass who likes to pretend I know everything and use this “pretend” information to ‘one up’ people. Not the case. I’m just sharing random bits of information I collected because it seems to apply to the conversation and nothing more. They seem to think I spend time trying find ways to prove I am ‘superior’ to them so I just share things I made up. No, I just collect things. Sometimes, the information gets put together wrong but not making it up nor I am trying to be superior. I am a magpie. Information, words, paper, and ink I collect.