At the best family reunion ever, we learned how to make homemade explosives.
The little kids adopted tomatoes. They painted faces on them, gave them cute personalities, even named them. Then we cracked open their craniums, filled them with modified fireworks, and blew them to bits. Sadistic? Perhaps. Entertaining? To no end.
Why do I bring this up? My head feels a bit like one of those tomatoes right now, and I have to wonder if someone in the cosmos is giggling while they watch the fuse burn. Rather than shaking my fists at the heavens or madly digging at the inevitable tragedy, I find myself scribbling like a lunatic through the insomniatic hours of the night. (See exhibit A: the time stamp on this post.)
I suppose the point is, we choose our reaction to the things we can't control (like having our heads blown up). For me at the moment, that includes the inability to sleep, a sinus infection, and the ever-sounding doubts about my writing talent/worth--you know, the ones threaten to keep me awake for the rest of all time?
Every pain is manageable if we can figure out how to use it for our gain, so rather than exploding, I'm learning to channel the rage. I'm finding:
1. I've never appreciated a full night's sleep more than in the last several months. (Even when raising infants.)
2. While battling with chronic sinusitis (thank you allergies), I've come to treasure the moments when I have enough energy to do the things I desire. I'll never take good health for granted again.
3. Instead of breaking down at every rejection/negative word, I've discovered fuel for a megalomaniac writing fiend. Each query rejection has turned into a new scene, charged by these overwhelming emotions. Every subtle "you suck," (especially the ones in my own head,) have led to knuckle cracking and coiled muscles. I'm ready to fight. Bring on the punching bag, er, page!
What's keeping you up at night?
The little kids adopted tomatoes. They painted faces on them, gave them cute personalities, even named them. Then we cracked open their craniums, filled them with modified fireworks, and blew them to bits. Sadistic? Perhaps. Entertaining? To no end.
Why do I bring this up? My head feels a bit like one of those tomatoes right now, and I have to wonder if someone in the cosmos is giggling while they watch the fuse burn. Rather than shaking my fists at the heavens or madly digging at the inevitable tragedy, I find myself scribbling like a lunatic through the insomniatic hours of the night. (See exhibit A: the time stamp on this post.)
I suppose the point is, we choose our reaction to the things we can't control (like having our heads blown up). For me at the moment, that includes the inability to sleep, a sinus infection, and the ever-sounding doubts about my writing talent/worth--you know, the ones threaten to keep me awake for the rest of all time?
Every pain is manageable if we can figure out how to use it for our gain, so rather than exploding, I'm learning to channel the rage. I'm finding:
1. I've never appreciated a full night's sleep more than in the last several months. (Even when raising infants.)
2. While battling with chronic sinusitis (thank you allergies), I've come to treasure the moments when I have enough energy to do the things I desire. I'll never take good health for granted again.
3. Instead of breaking down at every rejection/negative word, I've discovered fuel for a megalomaniac writing fiend. Each query rejection has turned into a new scene, charged by these overwhelming emotions. Every subtle "you suck," (especially the ones in my own head,) have led to knuckle cracking and coiled muscles. I'm ready to fight. Bring on the punching bag, er, page!
What's keeping you up at night?
