a funny balance

This may very well be the strangest year I’ve had yet. Which I suppose being 24 I’ve only got so much to go off of, but still. If you told any past age of myself any event of this year, there would be only one that I’d believe, the rest would loose a cackle out of me. Probably initiate a few tears as well. So instead of focusing on all the mountains I’ve still yet to climb, I'll share one of my meadows with you. 


The novel I’m currently in the first draft of is going wonderfully. Not every day is a spectacular one, but every step along the road lends itself towards progress. The best part is I enjoy the crafting of the story, the twists and turns, the ups and downs, the intense and calm moments, compiled together make an almost cathartic project. 


It’s both an escape from my own swirl and a making sense of it. They say authors pile their trauma into their books and I’m starting to see that more clearly. Can see how that could make like a runaway train, can see how it might instil a great deal of peace in both writer and reader. 


I sit in this funny little place of being both woefully poetic about every little thing I see, and being lacklustre and adrift in the shallow end. It’s an odd kind of balance. 


I could go on for days, ranting, raving, about the story and characters that live inside of my days. Though, that would mostly defeat the purpose of writing the book in the first place. Oh but the day I can geek-out with others about the story that already does not feel entirely my own. That will be a wonderful day, one I am excited to see in the future. 


But for now I remain the sole viewer and spectator of this little, big story. I’ll remain as such even into the new year I suspect. That is simply how this cookie seems designed to crumble. So I’ll keep writing, and doing my best to remain as human as possible in the face of loss, grief, and creativity. It too is a funny little balance I’ve struck up, one day I’ll tell you all about it. 


Till then, I’ve got to live it. 

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