June has been a difficult month for me. We all have those months. I know I’m not alone with this. The last few weeks haven't been fraught with worry or deep sadness – rather, a general malaise, old-fashioned blahs. I can't get my act together. I lack optimism. All of this could be because I can't seem to get warm. Me! Ex-Canada! It's winter here, which laughingly plays out at around 59 degrees Fahrenheit during the day...hardly frigid, but with no central heating and one small portable radiator in the living room, it isn't quite enough and I've resorted to blanket-swathing and staying close to that heat source. I certainly haven't felt like writing. My computer is in a particularly drafty area of the house.
I heard back from my agent, who's been in poor health. While I totally sympathize, it's so hard to accept being no further along with the editorial search. Part of me is concerned for her, poor girl, but the other part is growing impatient. No, that's not true. Impatience isn't really me. It's more like a kind of dull resignation. My agent still loves the book, of course. This is enough for me for now, but I wish I had better news for you, all the same.
In my current doldrums, my new book is now on the back burner until I'm resuscitated by either warmer weather, or a sprinkling of some kind of magic dust. I’ve worked on the manuscript sporadically, but can’t seem to control my distracted moods, and end up idly searching real estate sites, looking for that perfect house I dream of, both here and North America. (Would I really do that to my cats again?) I'll be all right. We all get a bit weird when we're cold. Come to think of it, I get even weirder when I'm too hot. Either way, when the writing mood comes, it will be out of the blue, with no advance planning. It would help if I could decide on the age of my protagonist, and also have confidence in that essential last line. The one I have isn’t doing it for me. You know I need that before I can plunge into the real writing.
But I do have some ideas for a few paintings. My friend, Squeakie Stone, in South Carolina, is doing so well with his art work, in all kinds of galleries, that his latest email gave me a boost. I now have two of his pictures on the wall, where they comfort me. I don’t usually have paintings on this blog, but wanted to share them with you.
I've been considering a return to painting for a while. I've even moved my antique desk near the patio doors, for the light. This desk was never meant to be used as an art table, but it's all I have at present, and will have to do (its 19th Century surface well-protected, of course). So, the work area is ready, and all I need are some canvases. Maybe next month. (It has to be more inspiring than this month.) Just hope my paints haven't dried out... I could even revive my art blog, once I’ve produced something. What a surprise that would be.
And there you have it. My irresolute life. I dislike this vaguely-vegetative Fran, and long for the enthusiastic one back. She’s around, but suffering delayed reaction at leaving Canada. She never learns. Snivelling about not knowing where to live…everyone should be so lucky.
If you know a good magic dust source, please advise. (They should accept PayPal.)
