Second draft of Dzadefve oa Charls’m (The Song of Worlds) is all marked up to make a third. For a big step, there is little to show besides pencil on hard copy. Expect a different story (in more ways than one) when all the changes wrap.
I finished the markup this past Sunday, and I have been trying since to find motivation for what comes next. After a few weeks of scratching on paper, the idea of powering up a computer to make edits does not enthuse. Going from paper to pixels underscores just how much a monitor taxes my eyes.
More generally, the current rapid change in masking and distancing taxes my spirit. Public health recommendations have whiplashed faster than my level of confidence has risen. I feel pushed from relative safety. That makes it hard to concentrate.
Pressure to socialize grows, but no possibilities share the geography of my passions and concerns. Going out requires leaving essence at home. The alternative is solitude, which is what I most prefer most of the time. Loved ones, however, insist on face time, and jones heavily from months without it. I suspect some of the appeal is that it demonstrates they are important enough to compel attention. Of course they are. Me, I’m good with email.
I’m not yet ready to go out unmasked. Although as vaccinated as currently possible, I’m not ready. When my redneck brother in the woods gets vaccinated, I may decide it’s safe enough. Until that day, I would prefer to stay home working on this perfect book no one will ever read. Life is not going to allow that. Once again, life does not give a damn what I prefer. It ignores any attempt to negotiate. It has shown no will to compromise. And people have called me stubborn.