It often happens like this: I'm finishing up a manuscript, getting ready to send it out into the big world with it's still-moist wings and focusing on keeping myself hopeful. Meanwhile, there's a crockpot full of other ideas...things strangers are saying, thoughts and memories these strangers are having...simmering in another part of my brain, distracting me a little from the task at hand. But I don't want to unplug the crockpot. I don't want to throw out its contents. Instead, I press the lid down - gently but firmly - hoping nothing escapes for just a little while longer.
I finish releasing the new bird, my most recent baby, and then I turn to back the crockpot, which is by now threatening to boil over. Carefully, carefully I lift the lid and peer inside, giving a little bit more attention to what's being said and who's saying it - what's being thought and who's thinking it. Getting to know the strangers inside.
Sounds a little grotesque, I know. Like, what is she talking about? People in a crockpot? Ew. Such a rash, blatant mixing of metaphors! Birds, horses, boiling people? Gimme a break!
And yet, I don't know how to explain the process of letting go of one book and starting another any better than that. Not yet anyway
Today's note to self:
Be ridiculously optimistic.
And stand up straight.
Hmm, I like the smell. Remind me to be careful of what I say.
ReplyDeleteAw, Ken. I wouldn't expect a comment like that from anyone else. lol
ReplyDeleteDefinitely DON'T start being careful of what you say. How boring would that be?