It's been cold as a welldigger's, er, bum, as they say, which fosters long periods of indoorness. I'm doing the one-step-back and two-steps-forward routine in my re-writes, which, I suppose, is good and helps flow and continuity and all that. At least I hope so.
I find myself envisioning the future with more surety and clarity. That I will get this novel published seems more a "when" than an "if" now.
I have some questions for myself, and I'll ask the same of any who care to reply:
1) What would you be doing differently if nothing stood in your way, whether time, money, geography or reality?
2) What, if anything, stands in your way?
3) What, if anything, are you doing about it?
I find that answering these questions is a bit like making my Life Goals List. It's intimidating to think on a scale like that. It feels pretentious, and silly, and scary all at once. For instance, admitting that someday I would love to have written a successful episode or two of Dr. Who or some other science fiction show sounds both childish and vainglorious. When I think of some of the things to put on my List (because, yes, I was scared and left holes in it "for later") I find myself erecting barriers in my own mind: "What a lofty goal. Don't be ridiculous." No one else needs to stop me when I think like that, because I'm pretty darned good at stopping myself.
But as I strain against convention and safety and expectations, I feel my horizons broadening. I feel avenues of possibility opening, and I become aware that even if no road exists, I have the abilities to pave my own way.