I’ve started reading the novel seriously. I’m getting ready. It’s been a while, but I wouldn’t say it’s been too long.

It’s the reason I haven’t been as good about keeping up with this blog as I would have liked this summer. I just wasn’t ready to write. Not in any structured, every day sort of thing. I’ve been reading, that’s for sure. And that’s been nice. And watching Doctor Who, and some of the old Star Trek episodes, which I’ve never seen. Listening to an immense amount of music, most recently The Decemberists, Joanna Newsom, Theresa Andersson, The Beatles, that sort of thing. Sprinkles of this and that.

What I’ve come to realize is this: I spent three years writing an immense amount of text. Same of it was crap, of that I’m sure. A large chunk of it is pretty good, and with a little tweaking and revision, I think the bulk of it will be publishable. And then there’s a few things that I feel are damn good, and perhaps I should be sending them out, even though I’m not, for whatever reason. Though, I think that’s going to change. I think I’m going to start trying to send a few things out in the next couple of weeks, you know, just to see what happens. That also means I’m going to have to work on some revisions, yes, but that’s a good thing too. It’ll get me back in the writing way. Because I’ve taken a hiatus.

An unintentional hiatus, but a hiatus. I needed a break. When I finished the second draft of my novel in February, I’d been writing pretty much every day for two and a half years. And a lot of that was the first and second drafts of the novel, which I worked on for many hours each day for large chunks of time*. An incredible output, to be sure, but I was exhausted, mentally. I couldn’t create. I had to rejuvenate my creativity. And I’ve been doing that, watching TV episodes and movies, talking with Patrick and Ashley and Kristina, and everyone else. Yes, I’ve written here and there, but it hasn’t been what I would call a steady stream of writing.

Which I think is okay. The worry always is, I got out of an MFA, and now I can’t write anymore because I don’t have the time or whatever. That’s a worry. I was afraid, during some of this period of not writing, which lasted from February to now, that I would fall into that category, that I would perpetually be working on my novel, that I would be one of those people who never finished, that had talent, but just never really found the drive out in the ‘real world’ to get writing done.

That’s not true. But I was worried about it. And it scared me. I was afraid of getting into a career and then forgetting about the writing. But now, that isn’t a fear. Everything’s going to be okay.

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The weather has finally changed. Not all the way; it’s sunny here right now, sort of warm, I can still wear shorts. But the past two days were cloudy, almost rainy. And that’s when I realized that everything is going to be okay. Despite not doing much during those days in the way of being productive, my mind awoke. The coming gray, the coming season of mist and mellow fruitfulness, as Keats wrote, is coming, and with it, my creativity returns.

How do I know this? For one, I’ve been having the craziest dreams. Dreams I remember, dreams that I can sort of control. Dreams that have started to open up the deeper crevices of my creativity and subconscious. I can see things, imagine things I wasn’t imagining before. And that is heartwarming and allows me to exhale fully. My mind is starting to make connections it hasn’t made in a while, and it is beginning to percolate.

Second, I’ve begun starting stories here and there, little words or phrases, characters, plots. I’ve even got a title I’m going to use, pulled from a Joanna Newsom song: The Nautical, Like All Things, Fades. For whatever reason, that snippet of lyrics fascinates me. So, I will title a story after it, and build the story from there. That’s something I normally don’t do, build from a title, because I find it too limiting, too constraining, and I like to have free range with my writing. I want the story to grow organically on the page, like the novel (more on that in a minute). So, because this has come to me at this moment in my life, I’m going to take it and make a story out of it. Now I have to figure out what kind of story that is, what kind of characters it has, what story inhabits the pages of something called The Nautical, Like All Things, Fades. There’s something there, I think. I’ll wring it out. And it’s a good exercise for my brain, I think. Sort of like mental aerobics. Yoga for my creativity.

Third. This is, perhaps, the most important part of this reinvigorated mental state. The novel. I’ve started thinking deeply about the novel, which is what got this post going in the first place. I’m more than half way through reading the novel, and there are parts of it that are awesome, and there are parts that downright suck. And then there’s the parts that are pretty good, but I can see the potential for making it better, and it won’t be that much work. I’m thinking about the novel more, the characters, the situation, the writing, the timeline, the work I’ve got ahead of me, and I’m excited. Daunted, for sure, because there’s a lot of work to do, but still, excited. Energized.

Part of this is because Patrick and Ashley are here, and in love, and spend much of their time together, and I’m starting to get a little hunkered down, a little more introverted, starting to have a lot more time to myself. Which is good and bad. I miss hanging out with Patrick like we were when he first moved here. But I’m also glad to not feel the pressure of constantly taking care of someone, because, despite our friendship not being that way at all, I was the reason he moved here, and I wanted to make sure he had a good time. Now Ashley is there for that, and I’m able to extend more of my mental energy to other parts of my life. So, the novel. Plus, I have a bed, the job search is happening, and I have applications and feelers out, and that will break at some point. I have confidence.

Also, this was a problem: a few major things needed to change in the novel. And up until this past week, I wasn’t able to come to terms with it. Even though, somewhere, I knew it had to happen. But now that I’ve been reading the novel again, and thinking more clearly about it, and getting into the mental space of working on it, I can see what needs to happen, and that it will make the novel better. There is much cutting to do (Christopher Marlowe is all but gone, as in Anne-Marie, at least in her current iteration), and there are whole sections of chapters, and perhaps even an entire chapter, that will be cut. There’s one aspect of the novel I have to add, but from what I’ve found, I’ve already subconsciously laid the groundwork for it, so it will be sprinkling some things here and there, and then adding a chapter (maybe?). And the characters will be refined, filed down, their essences distilled into something more resembling people instead of characters.

This is why I moved to Seattle. Recharge. And the summer has been good, if a bit uneventful (a lack of cash sometimes limits the ability to do things in a big city, but I’ve seen some Sounders games, went to a Seahawks preseason game, and done some hanging out and drinking and concert attending).

But the clouds are returning. I’m about to be reborn. I’ve been waiting for this for five years. This is why I came back. This is why I love Seattle. The gray, the clouds, the mist. It makes me more productive, more creative, a better person. I may never leave. Okay, that’s not true, but still, I feel, right now, that this is exactly where I needed to be. I needed a recharge my soul, and this is the only place that I could get to do that. Perhaps Rome would have done it. Or Minneapolis. But I knew Seattle, and I knew it would do what I needed it to do, and I’m okay with being a bit of a hermit, a bit of a recluse. I’m a writer. I have to be.

That’s where I am. That’s where things are going. And I might actually be in a place to get this damn blog on a regular schedule. We’ll see. At this point, don’t expect much, if anyone’s still reading. Not that I care. This is more for me than anyone else. And that’s fine. But it might stick this time. The gray and clouds and mist might will put me in some sort of schedule. At least, I’ll be in the right mental state to produce a copious amount of words this winter.

*The first draft, a good 300 pages double spaced, was written between October and February in 2009-2010. The second draft, now up to 520 double spaced pages and a rewrite of about 95% of the first draft, took me from about August of 2010 to January 2011 (well, the last day of January, so pretty much up through February, if I’m being honest, but still). And, during school, I was also writing 4 to 6 short stories (which probably averaged 20-25 double spaced pages per story) each semester, plus other writing, and little bits here and there. I also had three or four novels present themselves to me in the course of the program, one of which I’m pretty sure will be my next novel.