|Swimming in the Northumberland Strait with my friend Alison.|
This photo is a nice metaphor for how I woke up feeling today:
Floating with no destination.
Getting pushed farther from shore.
As I walked early this morning, I tried to figure out why I felt crappy. Not depressed, per se, but down. Edgy. Not sure of what to do with myself.
Ah, yes, I realized. Post-book funk.
This is how you feel when you're finished the book you've been working on for a year. The book you said was the last one you'd ever write if it didn't get published.
Now what do you do? The advice used to be to start your next book but these are not those times. These are end times, my friends. No matter how badly people want to return to The Way Things Were, a whole new way of living and working is unfolding.
I have no idea where I fit into that world.
Can no longer feel the sandy bottom with my feet.
With the way publishing is right now, and looks to be in the future...sure, people are still buying books and publishers still seem to be accepting submissions and planning catalogues, but I've kept myself afloat with magazine publishing and I think that's going to collapse by the end of the year.
Wondering where these waves will take us.
It's a good thing my mother and I have a Top Secret Book Project. The state of the world, the state of human existence has reminded me that life is short, too short, there aren't enough days to accomplish what you want to do so, you can wake up one day not feeling well and a month later be dead so -- "Mother," I said, "F**k it. We're doing that book project."
Life is too short to not do the damn project -- and too worry if you're swearing too much.
I mean, there are two ways of looking at that ocean and that sky: As a reminder of the limitlessness of one's life -- that there are no boundaries to what you want to do and be --
you're a small speck in the vastness of this world so you might as well just dunk your head below the surface and not do anything.
I'm going to keep swimming.