I have been in a black mood for days. There doesn’t seem to be a reason for it, except that I feel lost. I’m in between projects, and I’m still trying to summon the courage to send out those queries. My excuse is that I haven’t written the perfect query, not yet, but when I do . . .
I’m also waiting for a box of books and school materials to arrive via the big, brown jolly truck. There’s something exciting and even satisfying about a package, even if I know exactly what’s inside it.
I know; I know. I’m supposed to work on my new book while marketing the last. It’s not that I haven’t started a new book; I haven’t started marketing. After 11 pages into the new manuscript, I stopped working on it and thought about marketing Franklin’s Ladder. Why am I always so afraid? Why can’t I just do it?
Meanwhile, I’m reading Atonement and wishing I could write as well as Ian McEwan.
An hour and a half later, I’m adding that the New Mexico sky is capable of dissipating any feelings of frustration, black moods, etc. Throughout the first three days of this week, clouds and drizzly rain dominated the desert. On the fourth day, what felt like a coastal wind washed over the cactus and mesquite, and then, the sun and heat took control once again.
The sky, here, is enormous. The blue is so intense, and I can’t imagine any sky being as blue, though I haven’t traveled many places. The usual desert wind, dry and hot, is blowing my tomato plants and rippling the carrot tops, and the drooping sunflower heads are so heavy that they simply nod.
I love feeling the sun burn my skin, and I love to look up at the sky. A housewife’s (as well as a writer’s) life has cyclical phases of extreme busy-ness, and then it will slow to almost nothing except daily activities such as feeding children. I should learn to appreciate the laziness, rather than allowing it to aggravate me.