My Book Is At the Editor And I Don’t Have Enough Vices
I saw someone write, “as a memoirist,” today, and I started to try it, but my fingers wouldn’t move. If your brain doesn’t believe it…
So I will say this, as someone who finished writing many drafts of a book, I’m a wreck. My book is “at the shop.”
I wrote 100,000 words, then I bought time with a writing coach. She told me I needed a developmental editor. I’d never heard of such a person before. This magical editor could help me figure out what to keep and what to ditch from my book.
I learned I need to be between 60–80,000 words. That’s a lot of cutting. Plus, I knew there would be questions where I needed to actually elaborate on points in the book.
I need to give the editor time and space to read and process the book. There are dozens of things I could be doing with my time. Just looking around my house, if I were more productive I could at least dust.
My phone has many meditation apps. I have tried a couple. Frankly, they are not working.
Booze? It gives me migraines. Weed? Still live in a dry state. Nail-biting? There is one left. And after I had grown them all out so pretty.
Actually, there is a backlog of work to do. Over 20,000 emails in the inbox. Documents that need to be scanned for a project. A storage unit that needs to be cleared out.
My book goes out to the editor, and I am frozen in front of streaming reruns of sitcoms.
Before Dialectical Behavioral Therapy, there is no question my go-to vice was food. I would numb out in caramel layered with nuts and chocolate. I clawed my way back from well over 200 pounds to a scaleless “healthy” in my twenties. In my forties, I realized I needed gastric bypass surgery to get back from about 300 pounds to a scaleless “healthy”, and I don’t intend to lose sight of my health again. So, no food for anxiety.
Managing bipolar II and chronic PTSD alongside binge eating disorder is a wild ride. I have to get by with a lot of help from my friends. Today, John Fugelsang tweeted,
For me, the best part of depression is remaining charming around strangers but saving the misery for the ones who love you.
Due to circumstance, my husband and I spend nearly all our time together. He is retired. I am a writer who is disabled so I work from home. Is this a blessing or a curse? I believe it is a blessing. The agnostic part of me wonders if some kind of good karma brought me a caretaker in my waning years.
However, there is only so much time you can spend in the same house with one person before you get a little stir crazy. Besides, he’s busy on the internet or reading.
My book is still in the shop.
Taking a deep breath.
And I’ll write.