Dealing With It

October 16, 2000

So Meg’s gone-- she left today, flying off into the sky, and because we got to the airport late it was a rush-apart farewell, which might be better, after all-- easier than a more lingering thing. While I wish I could have held her longer, I know there’s no amount of time that would have been enough.

I could crumble into temporary despair (my despairs tend to be temporary, I have lots of seratonin or easily-excited endorphins or something) but I really don’t want to... I think it’s unfair to follow the Joy that Meg’s visit brought me with misery, it doesn’t do that Joy any service or justice or honor. It was a good time, a good ten days, and I should let it stay good.

So I’m dealing with it in a very particular way. I’m getting extravagantly, energetically worked-up, excited about stories and poetry and the act of writing. I’m going to hurl myself into my work with gusto. That’ll end, natch, I’ll burn out sooner or later (though I can sustain this sort of energy for quite a while, and have in the past, in novel Dares and at Clarion), but by the time that happens I’ll be past the worst of it, past the pit of as bad as it gets. I’m all about repression and postponement-- it’s possible to get pretty far out ahead of these emotional downswings, so far beyond the meaty part of the curve that the troughs don’t catch you. It might be building up, like mercury poisoning or DDT, and I might have to face it all someday... but maybe not. Maybe I’ll die or something before it can all hit me, check out in a state of exuberant grace. There are worse ways to go. And instead of lying around in a technicolor funk, gnawing at the bedsheets and bemoaing the lack of a Meg in my life, I’ll be producing, cranking... People have noted my productivity in the past, and like my ability to wake up completely almost instantly in the morning, it’s sometimes a source of envy or chagrin or good-natured ribbing or bad-natured muttering... but unlike waking up quickly, which is just some brain chemistry thing, I take some pride in being able to write lots and lots of words, especially since the speed with which I write doesn’t seem to particularly affect the quality of those words. I like writing fast, writing lots, and I haven’t been doing that lately. I think I’m going to again, now.

Then again, I guess writing fast is just chemistry, too, neurons firing in a certain way, wide-open hardwired conduits in my gray matter... so pride is silly. But by that logic pride in anything is silly, and I don’t like to believe that, true or not-- pride is an engine. It can mess you up, sure, but it can lead to good work, too. It’s an engine I’d like to keep going for me.

(I’ve been called arrogant, once or twice a dozen times. Any arrogance I have is of a very limited sort, about very specific things, and it serves primarily to cover a deep and abiding insecurity...)

So what to write? I’m into historicals, lately. My next book will have all this French Medieval stuff in it (and yet it’s a modern contemporary fantasy-- trust me, it’ll work, it’ll so work!)... I had an idea for another story that can come out of the research I have to do for that book anyway... I have an idea for a nice Bonnie Parker and Clyde Barrow story (I’ve studied those guys-- they’re so much more interesting and twisted than the Faye Dunaway-Warren Beatty flick makes out)... Today I did the last spit-and-polish on “Hart and Boot,” my historical fantasy, and I’ll send it out this week... I used to be really wary of doing historical stuff, especially writing about historical figures, which seems to me a dangerous endeavor, but I’m very pleased with how “Hart” came out, it’s upped my confidence level... and I should use all those skills I acquired in school, all that hard-won facility with historical research, hunting down primary sources...

See how well this enthusiasm is working? Keeping those wolves at bay quite nicely, thanks.

Though there's no telling how my dreams will go, tonight.