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I hate stupid trojans that pretend to be antivirus programs and shut down my computer.

As if I won’t notice that I never installed this program.

As if I will just hand over my credit card info for this strange program to “fix” viruses that do not exist.

As if I will not notice that the program has shut down all other functionality on my computer.

I am not an idiot, thank you. I am, however, spending several hours trying to remove it. If that fails, there will be reformatting. And then reloading.

I had this exact thing happen just four months ago. And it looks like this one snuck in through my Java plug-in. The one that runs half the websites I use. I don’t know what the hell I’m supposed to do about that.

This is not what I wanted to be doing with my day.

There have been so many things I have wanted to write about over the last four months.  I have a list.  Those posts are all coming eventually.

October and November were crazy business months what with the mini launch and all.
November and December were full of holidays and revision angst.
January filled with more revision angst (and revision progress, finally!), a flood of accounting, and a sinus infection.

Here we are in February.  I feel myself finally digging out from under the mound of stuff.  I sent out emails today to set up social things.  (There are more emails to that effect still to send.)  I can imagine placing something else on my schedule this month.  The clouds of busy are starting to part.

Even better, I’m finally on the downhill spin for my revision.  My first chapter is where I want it to be.  (And I can finally see that it’s there.  You stare at anything for long enough and all you can see are the holes.)

Today I’m going to knock down chapters two and three.  (Two needs lots of work; three is basically fine as-is.)  Then I’ll only have one problem-chapter left to run through.  Finishing the revision at the end of this week would be lovely.  I might even get there.  

At any rate (because I know everyone was worried), this revision is NOT actually going to take me the rest of my natural life.  AND I’m not going to die an unnatural death trying to pull it out.  Guess I was wrong about that.  Again.  Go figure.  (And call off the life flight, if you would.)

So all those posts I meant to write (including the one with all the New York pictures–I havent’ forgotten) are coming.  Just not today.

The second half of January has been absolutely lovely. I’ve been mostly living my life instead of posting about it (save revision kvetching, which is obligatory) so here’s a quick catch-up post.

I turned 28 last Friday.  28 is my lucky number, which I hope means this is going to be my year.  (My friend Melody says she’s sure in some language "28" means "published."  I will love Melody forever for that.)   I received several nice phone calls and emails, and got to spend the evening with my Writer Girls, who are always awesome. Sarah, who is also mired in revision, made me this, which makes me all kinds of happy:

My revision progresses.  I thought I was done with chapter one.   I gave it one last read through and realized that no where in the chapter can I tell what my character is feeling.  This is a problem.  So back to work on it I go.  (This revision is eternal.  I’m resigned to that.)

We’re going low-budget on birthdays at our house this year (Drew’s is coming up in February), but Drew got me pickles and pistachio pudding, which are two of my very favorite foods.  I was happier with those than I would have been with pretty much anything.  Drew=Awesome.

I came home from Writer Girls to six inches of snow that hadn’t been there when I left for Salt Lake.  The snowing had stopped, so I dragged Drew out into the snow for a midnight walk.  Everything was beautiful and bright.  If it has to be winter, that’s exactly the kind of winter I like it to be.  I like to think it’s an omen.  My year indeed.

All that snow is my excuse for only having gone running three times so far this winter.  But hey, three is more than none, which is an improvement over my normal winter exercise.  Also, those day lights are working.  I can get up and function every day at an almost reasonable hour.  That’s ten dollars well spent.  (Also, the lights are likely to last me the next ten years.)

As of today I’ve finished all of the 2009 financial tasks.  (Only took me the whole month.)  Today was income taxes, which were surprisingly easy to do.  I’ve learned a lot since last year, and Quickbooks is turning into my very best friend, since it practically did the Schedule C for me.  This means I’m starting to be able to breathe again, especially since I’m now certain we have several more months before securing another income source becomes imminent.  (For those who haven’t been following, that’s been the theme of the last year.  Every month or so I go through the finances and consult Drew; we figure I should start looking for a job in a month or two.  It’s been 14 months of "in a month or two," and I still haven’t had to job search.  Much as I dislike the stress of being in limbo, I so love working from home.)

Drew’s given about a billion quotes this last week, which means February is likely to  be very, very busy on his end.  We like busy, since it means getting paid.

We’ve also signed a contract to do more Schlock minis.  Drew has the sculpt almost done, which means soon it will be on my desk rather than his, then out the door where it will multiply and return to us in pewter, rather than green.  Some days the process still takes me by surprise.

And for today’s non-sequitur, this is my fish:

I bought him in December when I was having a horrible day.  Some girls shop for shoes; I bought a three-dollar fish.  His name is Goreshade, as in the bastard.  So far, he doesn’t seem to have litchified himself.  Maybe he’s still working on the phylactery. 

I get so demoralized by revision.

This is largely because my beginnings need so much work. I have a whole book to revise, and I spend a million years revising the first three chapters. I spend all of that time looking at the other 3/4 of my book and saying to myself, “that means this revision is going to take me *4* million years! Holy #*&! Shoot me now!”

And then I get past chapter four and it’s practically done already.

If I can just get past chapter four it will be practically done already.

I can’t believe how long this revision is taking.

I haven’t taken this long on any writing project in the last four years.

The voice announcing the countdown to 4 million is drowned out only by the voice that keeps asking me if I’m really making this thing better, or if I’m just pushing words around.

This whole process would go so much easier if the stupid voices in my head would just. shut. up.

I don’t remember starting my first novel, but I do remember finishing. I was alone in my dorm room. Over four months I’d written 65,000 words, which at the time felt like a lot. The high of completion was unlike any sense of accomplishment I have ever experienced. I wanted to keep writing books for the rest of my life.

Sometimes I wish I remembered how to be impressed with myself for my writing. I’ve never felt like that again. I doubt I ever will. Writing was different when it didn’t have to matter for anything, when I didn’t have to be any good, when my future didn’t have to hang on it.

I’ve forgotten how to be impressed with myself, but I’ve learned how to work harder. The harder I work, the more I’m unable to feel anything but exhausted and relieved when I finish. For me, the hard work kills the euphoria of accomplishment. It’s gone. It’s never coming back.

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I joined my church when I was seventeen, and that year I was on fire. I learned so much so quickly. My whole world changed, but more importantly, something inside me changed that I couldn’t describe or explain. And I liked who I was. Decisions felt easy. Spiritual connection was effortless.

But the rush of growth wore off, and then I was back to learning a piece at a time–having to work to feel comfort and peace. Going through the motions as often as feeling their meaning. For me, the day-to-day living killed the ease of connection. Nothing was as easy as it had been. That was gone. And it’s never coming back.

#

I remember talking to a friend who was also a convert to my church. He talked about wanting to get back to the way he felt in that first year, back when he was on fire. He had all sorts of plans to get back there, but they all made me feel sad.

Trying to go back didn’t seem like a healthy choice to me. The discovery of a path is euphoric, but the traveling is slow and arduous. It’s filled with a quiet peace rather than wave after wave of joy–and that quiet peace is easily drowned in the struggles and the hardship and the pain. When I take time to listen, though, I feel a strength in the ordinary, in the every day. I see the firm structures I have built for myself and I don’t want to go back to those early days, which, though euphoric, were also unstable.

I doubt I will ever recover the rush of the early days.
But trying to return to those early days isn’t going to help.
They were a necessary step, but not a destination.
Feeling euphoric about my life and my work is not the goal.
The stretching, the growing, the hard, hard work–none if it is very fun.
I don’t feel like I can expect myself to enjoy it most of the time. Because really–I don’t.

But the value of what my life is becoming matters more to me than all the euphoric beginnings in the world.

And to take the alternative–leaving the path before it’s finished–would be to throw it all away.

No, I certainly can’t do that. So back to work it is.

In the interest of not hibernating anymore this winter, I invested $10 in some daylight spectrum light bulbs at Costco. (Thanks for the tip, Melinda!) I’m now incubating under them while doing my daily blog checking and email writing and otherwise internet time-wasting before I gear myself up to get things done. (Yes, I know I’m getting to that incredibly late in the day. Hibernation, see?)

I was really sceptical about the things when I set them up last night. The white light fought with the yellow light from our regular bulbs, making the “daylight” bulbs look fluorescent.

Then I turned them on in the morning. The light from the lamps is exactly the same color as the light coming in through my window.

Maybe there’s something to this, after all.

I really, really hope this works.