Letting Go

I'm currently listening to a song called "Time for Letting Go" by Jude Cole, one of my favorite singers from the 1990s. It's appropriate for this post because there's some things I need to let go.

I wrote and published prolifically for years. Nine novels (one published). Two nonfiction books. Several magazine articles. I also did freelance book reviews and back cover copy. In addition to that, I worked a full-time job, raised a family, and endured an abusive marriage.

And I am tired.

When I made the move to Virginia, I did so with the intention of creating a life that I loved. That's meant taking a long, hard look at a lot of different aspects of my life, making tough decisions, and enduring a weird sort of grieving process. Let me explain.

I did all of those writing projects - freelance and otherwise - for many reasons. Yes, I was fascinated by several aspects of WW2 and I wanted to research and write about them, so I did. But the freelance stuff? I did it for the money, pure and simple. Why? Because I had a financially irresponsible husband, and I had to make sure the bills were paid and the kids taken care of. Growing up with two financially irresponsible parents only made my financial trauma that much more difficult to deal with. So I burned the candle at both ends and hollowed myself out.

I'm still feeling the effects of it years later. (Is it effects or affects? I'm too tired to look it up).

But on top of the burnout is this expectation that as a writer and historian, I need to produce and produce and produce. And not blog posts or Substack notes or emails - but publications. No, I'm not a professor and do not need to make tenure, but as an independent historian, the pressure to publish still exists.

Within the first month of moving to Virginia, I landed on a potential nonfiction book project. Camp Peary, known as "The Farm," the not so secret CIA training facility, is located on the outskirts of where I live. During WW2, US Navy Seabees trained here. Italian and German POWs were also imprisoned here. And lo and behold, no one has written a book about Camp Peary during WW2. It's like the project just fell into my lap. In looking at my archival resources, I discovered a rich trove here in Virginia as well as in the national archives in D.C. which is now a three-hour train ride away.

This is a postcard from Camp Peary during WW2

I want to write this book. I do. 

But I can't right now. And this makes me grieve. 

Why? Because I desperately want to write it, but my health won't allow it. My brain and my body can't do it. Add in the complete chaos happening on a daily basis in America and it's just...nope. Not happening. It's all I can do to work my full time job and maybe write in the evenings if I have the energy. 

Do I feel guilty for that? You bet I do. I see so many people being incredibly prolific, and I envy them. I also think I should be just like them and write all the things, limitations be damned. But I  can't. I've yet to accept it. I'm not sure what stage of grief I'm in - but I'm not at acceptance yet. Anger? Denial? Probably both. 

But for my own peace of mind, I definitely need to accept this new reality. I'm damn proud of what I've already accomplished. And if I never publish anything again (gulp. That makes me really, really sad), at least I've got some books out there in the world.

I'm not saying I'll never start the nonfiction project, but right now is not the time. I need to learn more about my new state, familiarize myself with the area, and do a lot of research into where I live before I can even begin to think about starting that project. It'll take time. I need to give myself that time.

Until then, I'm going to focus exclusively on my new novel. I'm enjoying it so far, and as its lighthearted women's fiction, it's a welcome change of pace and escape from the current world we're living in. 

I'm also going to focus on my health. I cleaned up my diet a LOT (which I hope will bring down my cholesterol and triglycerides) and have an appointment set up for a pelvic physical therapist for my adhesions. I went on a walk the other day and hopefully, if I can get the pain in my abdomen to settle down, I can continue that this week. Who knows? Maybe I'll start to feel better. I know I won't be cured, but if I can pace myself well and prioritize my health, I can manage my chronic illnesses. 

So. It's time for letting go...of expectations...of perfect health...of guilt...

And time to be okay with what is.

Odds and Ends

I've been in a flare for the past few days. Yesterday, I had to take the afternoon off so I could sleep. I napped for four hours. I woke up exhausted, my joints burning and in pain, my body just one big ball of exhaustion. There's nothing I can do during these flares except rest and accept that it's happening. If I get upset, I stress myself out, and that just makes everything worse.

Today, my abdominal adhesions caused such intense pain I could barely stand it. Worse, they're causing pain in my chest - I don't know if this is referred pain, or if this is my fibromyalgia, or what it is, but after work today, I sat on the couch, took some pain meds, and put my heating pad over the entire area. While it still hurts, the pain is under control now. I'm waiting to hear back from a pelvic physical therapist here in my city so I can hopefully get some relief.

Oddly enough, after the pain subsided, I wanted to work on my novel. I managed to write over 1,000 words, and it was a fun scene to write. My main character just turned 50, and had to quit her dream job as a director of a nonprofit. She has a chronic health issue - like me! - and is taking a long break to figure out what to do with the rest of her life. She meets other women in midlife who are also dealing with their own issues. I don't have the entire thing plotted out, but rather letting the story take me where it will.

I've written only a handful of contemporary stories - and never a full-length novel - so this is a departure for me. But I'm enjoying it. 

I'm reading a wonderful novel called Johanna Porter Is Not Sorry by Sara Read. I was in a reading slump for awhile, so I'm glad I decided to read this one. Sara also lives in Virginia, and we've connected via Substack. I hope we can meet in person at some point since she lives close to me.

I'm hopeful this dumb flare will end soon because look at these beauties!

I have a walking trail right by my house, but it is not smooth pavement. The rocks were digging into my other walking shoes and I determined I needed some sturdier shoes to protect my feet. These arrived today and they fit like a glove. Now I just need to feel better so I can go and walk!

This and That

Pretty LuLu in the sun!

Life has been interesting lately...

Health Issues

After seeing the same primary care physician for the past 22 years, finding a new doctor wasn't something I really wanted to do. But since I live 1300 miles way from said doctor, I didn't have a choice. I had my first appointment yesterday, and it went quite well. We have an action plan for some of my health issues.  I had my bloodwork done and unfortunately, it came back with high cholesterol and high trigylcerides, which I already knew. I've been on a med and daily fish oil to lower them, but I don't think it's working. I'm sure a push to lose weight is in the works, and I can't say that I will fight it. I need to lose weight, but doing so is just so damn exhausting. When you have chronic illnesses and can't keep a steady exercise regimen, it makes it incredibly difficult to shed pounds. I don't eat that badly, either. I allow myself to eat out once a week and have a treat, like a slice of cake or something, once a week, as well (Friday night is my preferred day for both!). My weight has yo-yo'd ever since I had my daughter nearly 25 years ago. I've gained and lost, gained and lost, but this time, I can't seem to lose anything.

My abdominal adhesions are causing me no end of grief. I'm pretty sure I have an entrapped nerve somewhere in my thigh area, and it's causing shooting pain down my leg. I'm also having a lot of abdominal pain. Solution? Back to the pelvic physical therapist I go! 

HOA Issues

I do love my new apartment and the location. I have a splendid balcony on the second floor. Unfortunately, the sun beats down on it every afternoon and through the patio windows. I've already installed black-out curtains to help. But I also want to sit on my patio and enjoy it! So I bought a patio umbrella and spent a few lovely, blissful evenings there before someone ratted me out to the HOA. Apparently, in this condominium building (I rent my apartment) shades, patio umbrellas, and the like are NOT ALLOWED without express written permission from the Board. I was livid. Why am I not allowed to provide shade for myself? Because it ruins the way the building looks? If that's the case - and I'm sure it is - that is downright ridiculous. When I asked my property manager if I had any alternatives, she replied, "Sunglasses?" which just infuriated me. 

I've contacted building management to see if I can request permission for the patio umbrella. Light sensitivity comes with ME/CFS (one of my chronic illnesses) and I'm really hoping they will let me have the umbrella.

Other apartment woes include a leaking pipe underneath the sink - and we just now discovered it - which meant everything I store under that sink is covered in mold and ruined. The repairman came to look at the refrigerator today, and we need an entirely new ice making kit. The time on my washing machine also isn't working. Sheesh!

On Writing

I'm enjoying writing my new novel, but I'm running up against procrastination again. I joined a group that writes via Zoom twice a week to try and hold me accountable. I could have participated tonight, but wasn't feeling it, so hopefully on Sunday.

I'm also hoping to blog more regularly here. I journal every night, but I think blogging here to establish a writing habit is also a good idea. 

Weekend Plans

No plans for the weekend, though I may pop over to Colonial Williamsburg and go to the Art Museum if I'm feeling up to it. Otherwise, lots of rest, reading, writing, and watching my beloved British murder mysteries! 

The Best - and the Worst - of Times

Haven't blogged on this platform for awhile; instead, I've been using Substack. While I've made some great connections and enjoy some of the newsletters, I feel a bit intimidated about writing my own stuff. Isn't that strange? I feel like I can be more myself on my own blog...even though it's my own blog on the other site, too. Weird. 

Anyway.

I've now been living in Virginia for two months. The move from Nebraska went fantastically well, and the pets traveled the 1300 miles with nary an issue. That surprised me the most, I think! We've all settled into our new home. My daughter found a job and while I'm continuing to work at the same one I've had for the past year, I'm hoping I can find one involving the history around my area. But with the Terrible Orange One and his Evil Minion (you know who I'm talking about) cutting jobs left and right with the National Park Services, who knows? 

I feel like I'm living in the best of times (my own personal life) and the worst of times (the destruction of democratic values and the rise of authoritarianism in my own country). Every day brings a new calamity from our government. The latest debacle - the shameful treatment of Urkaine president Zelenskyy by Trump and Vance - made my blood boil on a level it hasn't in a few days. HAHAHAHA. I've always had low blood pressure, but this administration might change that. It's been a battle to try and focus on my own positive changes in the midst of the devastation. 

So for this post? I'm focusing on The Best of Times.

1) I joined a local writing group that meets once a month. There's around 30 of us, of all ages and types of writers. I met some lovely people already, and I look forward to participating more.

2) I've started a new novel. It's not a historical one (though I'm currently plotting my next one), but contemporary women's fiction. Or maybe it's chick lit. I really don't know at this point. All I know is that I'm having fun writing it. It's about a woman in midlife fighting a chronic illness who abruptly quits her job and heads to England to rest and recuperate and decide what she really wants for the next half of her life. I wasn't originally intending on adding the chronic illness aspect, but I feel like that's something not often explored in fiction, and since I have several chronic illnesses, well, it only felt natural.

3) There is a lovely walking trail just down the block from there I live. I've taken several walks there and snapped wonderful photos of birds, many of which are not in Nebraska. It's refreshed my spirit.


4) I love my new home! I'm in a part of town close to everything I need, and within walking distance of Barnes and Noble, restaurants, and other shops. The people in my building are quite friendly; in fact, everyone here is very nice and pleasant.


5)Yesterday, I went and bought some patio furniture for my balcony, and also put up two birdfeeders. I've had several finches visit already, and I hope some other species will also stop by!

6) Spring and warmer temps will be here soon! I plan to do lots of exploring when that happens. I'm surrounded by an abundance of history, and while I've explored some of it, I've not made even a dent in everything I want to see.

That's the update from here. 

What a Difference a Day (or Two) Made...

Dinah Washington sings a wonderful tune called "What a Difference a Day Made." While the lyrics are romantic in nature, it perfectly shows how much life can change in "24 little hours."

With my daughter gone on a weekend trip, I decided I needed to just cut loose a bit on Friday night. I bought a bottle of wine, FaceTimed one of my best friends, and had my own 90s music dance party in my living room. Just being able to relax and unwind, to let the cares of the week drift away, helped tremendously.

By Saturday morning, my gloomy mood had lifted considerably. I made some decisions regarding the day job (namely talking to co-workers and making a decision to discuss some issues with my boss) and having a plan of action eased my mind. I worked on my novel, took a walk, watched a few good episodes of television, and turned in early.

Today, I worked on my novel again, and lo and behold, I saw the path forward for the rest of the story. I'm super excited about finishing it. It's remarkable how my mood is so connected with my writing. This evening, I also took a nice nature walk and managed to snap some incredible photos. I'm not a professional photographer - I am firmly in the amateur category - but I so enjoy this little hobby of mine. 

Long story short? I feel so much better. 

What a difference a day (or two) made...

Woe Is Me

Maybe it’s because I’m only a year away from 50.

Maybe it’s because I’m burned out.

Or maybe it’s because the Very Worst Season (summer) is upon us, and my brain is beginning to go into deep hermit mode. 

I started a new job this year, one I thought I’d love.

But I don’t. It’s not at all what I expected. Worse, I’m starting to dread it. That’s not how I want to live my life. I need a meaningful day job, one that makes me feel as though I’m making a difference. While this job has that potential, there are too many other issues hampering it (micro-managing, miscommunication, etc., etc.) and long story short, I need to find something else.

But what?

I started buying myself flowers because why the hell not?
I deserve them!

I’ve worked as a writer and editor for my “day job” for more than 20 years. And to be honest, I’d really like to try something else for the day job part of my life (I will always write my fiction - but one cannot make any kind of living that way).

Here’s what I’d really like to do: historical research. I’d love, love, love to be able to research anything from an old manor house’s history in the heart of England to the life of a previously neglected historical personage, or the history of an object or a document, or hell, just about anything.

Finding those types of jobs is like trying to find one ladybug hiding in a field of grass: nearly impossible.

Why is is that the things I love most do not pay? Why must my passions not allow me to make a living wage?

Granted, if I did not have to worry about health insurance in this god-forsaken country, I might be able to cobble together a living doing freelance historical research jobs. But nooooo…I am a human being with chronic health conditions and I need to have decent medical insurance. And I also need a steady paycheck, something that freelancers don’t get for a few years (if ever) while they establish themselves and gain clients. Growing up poor, watching my mother have panic attacks over money, also makes it impossible for me to not have a steady paycheck. Trauma is real, folks. 

What to do, what to do?

I’ve been scouring the jobs boards, looking for positions in publishing, but the jobs are competitive, and I don’t know that I want a job in publishing,. Therefore, I’m trying to open my mind a little to other types of work, but how do you get a job in another field when you’ve spent nearly your entire adult life in the same industry?

Whatever the job is, it needs to be a remote one because my health absolutely will not allow me to go back to an office full time. There are days I can’t leave my bed!

I’m trying to be patient and have faith that the universe will provide me an opportunity when the moment is right. But it is so hard.

And maybe all of this is because of the reasons I mentioned above: I’ll be 49 this year, and that’s one year closer to 50, and OH MY GOD HOW DID THAT HAPPEN? And as we just finished up Memorial Day Weekend, that means summer is upon us, and last summer nearly killed me. I swore I would go to the UK for a month to escape the heat, but I can’t do that because the job I have now WON’T ALLOW IT.

Or maybe I just need to get away for a weekend, go somewhere stimulating, and come home refreshed.

Woe is me indeed.

I am feeling sorry for myself, but this is very discombobulating. I've always known what I've wanted to do - write fiction - and working in the writing/publishing field for the day job has, in the past, been exactly what I wanted to do. Now that I'm having doubts about it, well...it's terrifying, I tell you. And I'd rather not go through another drastic life change! I already moved, started a new job, and broke up with my boyfriend. Can the universe just leave me alone for awhile?!?

Sigh.

One day at a time. I have to remember this.

Staying Focused

Friends, sometimes it is exhausting to try and stay focused on goals.

Eat healthier. Lose weight. Exercise. 

Find a literary agent. Edit the novel. 

Keep working toward my dream of moving to England. 

And there are some days, like today, that I just want to sit on the couch and watch British murder mysteries. 

Last night I did my workout and it was fantastic. Felt good. Strong. Made a healthy dinner. Worked on the novel a bit. Went to bed early and couldn't sleep. Woke up and felt awful. Took an unpaid sick day (which I really can't afford to do, but...). 

I slept a lot and and then moved from bed to couch to start watching the new Palm Royale series on Apple TV which is fantastic. Now I'm watching Father Brown on BritBox and thinking I need to work on the novel.

My beloved Kathryn, who passed 3 yrs ago, knew how to rest!

Which irritates me because, as Devon pointed out in yesterday's post, why do we have such a hard time resting? I feel like if I'm not being productive, even on my days off or even on sick days, for goodness sake, I feel guilt and shame.

Capitalism. Midwestern work ethic. Call it what you will, but it's deeply ingrained in me - and many other Americans. I want to just watch television on a sick day without feeling guilty - maybe indulge in a sweet treat (trying to limit it to once a week except for my daily dark chocolate ration) and relax. Rest. 

I don't know how to combat this. I even felt guilty for taking a sick day. That's not right. 

But!

I'm still going to stay focused on my goals. Today might be a bleh day where I am not productive, don't get in a workout (I can't), and maybe only write a few sentences in the novel, or maybe none at all. And that's okay. 

Now if I can just convince my brain that it's okay!

THERE IT IS

 It's back. 

And who knows for how long? But for this day, for this moment, all is bliss. I'm happy, excited for the future, ready and eager to keep reaching for those dreams.

Is it because February, the hardest month of the year for me, is gone? Is it because for today, all is well at work - i.e. I know what I'm doing? Is it because I just finished watching the finale of the Apple TV show Ted Lasso and am brimming over with tears and a warm feeling in my heart? 

It's all of it and more, I'm sure.

I'm going to grab onto this moment, hold it tight, and remember how good it feels. 

When I work on my novel tonight - after I watch All About Eve with my pals on Twitter (we use the hashtag #TCMParty and live tweet throughout the movie) - I plan to immerse myself deeply into my story, and try to remember why I write: because I love it.

Life Update

I figured something out the other night. Because I lived for years never knowing what was coming around the bend with my then-husband (would he end up in a fight? Come home drunk? Be arrested? Yes, all of these things happened), I lived in a constant state of fight or flight. And even now, years later, when I am in an uncomfortable situation - like learning the processes of a new job - it triggers the fight or flight response. I've had to take deep breaths, remind myself that this is temporary, that I just need to not be afraid to ask questions when I'm unsure of something, and most importantly, to take it slow. 

As far as the novel goes, my editing process is messy, but it seems to work for me. I'm starting to figure out what needs to be changed, and starting to find my groove. Huzzah!

The weather has been unseasonably warm, and the other night I found a tick on my scalp. Yes, a TICK. I was appalled. A tick? In March?!? Climate change is really messing with the world.

And finally, I have to share this amazing sign that my niece made for me for my new apartment. Some day, I want to hang it in my home in England. 

Reminder: Art Is Subjective

Today I received a rejection from an agent on a full manuscript request.

It stung.

While she said she was initially drawn in by my story and premise (yay, the query letter worked!), she ultimately didn't fall in love with the execution of it. 

*sob*

Yes, I know this business is subjective. There are lots of published novels I've read that I've scratched my head at, wondering how they managed to make it from agent to editor to published novel. 

But I admit to being quite deflated today, and the self-doubt began to creep in.

What if I really am not good at writing novels?

That's a terrifying thought. Writing fiction is in my blood. I've been doing it since I was 12 years old. I can't fathom doing anything else.

So I've had to just confront this head on and realize that while this agent didn't fall in love with my story, I know one will. I have to keep the faith. I have to believe in myself and my abilities.

Life Update

I've been at my job for nearly two months now, and I'm starting to settle in and find my way around. It's much more challenging than my last job (which is what I wanted) and this means I am more mentally tired at the end of the day. I don't have as much energy to devote to my writing, especially when I'm having a flare (I've had two bad ones in the last month). I'm still trying to squeeze in a bit of editing every day in hopes that it will all add up to a finished novel. It makes me realize, though, how age and my health have so affected my energy levels. When my kids were young, I was working full-time, parenting, dealing with an abusive marriage, and doing about three freelance jobs plus working on my novel. How did I do all of that? 

Ultimately, I'd like to work part-time and write the rest of the time...while living in England.

Yes, that is the ultimate goal! 

The weather has been glorious here with temperatures in the 50s and 60s. I've tried to take as many walks as my body would allow, and it's been nice to be out in the warm sunshine.

I Just Don't Know...

I think I expect too much of myself. 

Every day, I expect myself to do the following:

1) Be awesome at the day job

2) Cook and eat a healthy supper

3) Keep up on the housework 

4) Exercise

5) Write

That's not a bad list, right? That should be doable every single day. When I accomplish all of those things, I feel amazing and damn proud of myself. 

But when I don't accomplish them all? When one of my chronic illnesses strikes and I'm too exhausted to cook, do housework, and barely have the energy to just sit and watch television? I feel like a damn failure.

I have a theory that life is a constant cycle that is always interrupted. We follow a routine - we get up, we go to work, we eat, we do the things we want to do (read, write, watch t.v., exercise, etc.), we go to bed, we sleep, we get up and do it all over again. 

But then come the interruptions. The sickness. The bad day at work. The medical appointment that brings bad news. Family issues. Relationship issues. Pandemics. Politics. And on and on and on...

We can try and plan our days and stick to our routines, but life interrupts us. Constantly. 

I need to learn to just roll with it, and not beat myself up if I don't fill in those little circles on my planner for each activity I hope to accomplish every day. There's something to be said for being consistent and for attempting to stick to your daily goals. But it's also okay to realize that hey, if you're in the middle of a flare, you don't have to exercise because if you do, you'll make yourself worse. Or if you had an extremely bad day at the day job, it's okay to watch television all night instead of work on the novel because if you tried to write, only complete crap would emerge.

Bottom line, I need to show myself grace. 

I love, love, LOVE this artwork
Artist: J.C. Leyendecker

Life Update

I'm just now getting over a flare that lasted almost ten days, and it was a doozy. Worse, I have no PTO at the new job until my "introductory period" (90 days) is over. That is beyond frustrating. I ended up taking an unpaid day and that's money lost that I really can't afford. It makes me realize that even though I have to wait for my PTO, at least I will have it. So many people do not have sick leave. 

This flare also reminded me of how sick I really am. I am not exactly sure what caused it (I did have a date night with my boyfriend and had two Moscow Mules, but I think it's just the enormity of the move, the new job, the holidays, etc., etc., finally came crashing down on me, and my body said ENOUGH. I still am not back to my baseline, and I'm trying not to push myself. These flares leave me terrified that one day I will not recover, that I will end up bedridden like so many patients with ME/CFS. How would I take care of myself financially if that happens? What about insurance for medical bills, etc.? Which brings me to the horror of the American healthcare system. Get sick, go broke. That's about the long and short of it.

Sigh.

I'm back to working on my novel, but I'm still trying to adjust to the new job. There's just so much more to learn, and while it will become second nature to me at some point, it's still mentally draining to work through it all. My cognitive issues (memory issues, recall, mixing up my words, etc.) that come with ME/CFS are not helping matters. However, I am very happy that my employer set a meeting up with me to discuss accommodations, and they have already made arrangements for a few things. It feels good to know I work for a company that values my health and wants to make sure I have what i need to get the job done.

Betrayed By My Body

 I've been doing pretty well with my exercise routine. I love the ease of using my walking pad, and how I can just slide it under the bed when I'm finished. Much better than that huge treadmill.

So tonight, when I hopped on the walking pad, put on my music, and started walking, I looked forward to listening to some good tunes and getting a burst of adrenaline. Then out of nowhere, my head began to throb. I tried to ignore it, considering I'd just had a migraine on Sunday, and had given myself all day yesterday to recover. I thought my headphones might be too tight, so I loosened them, but that didn't work. I took down my hair and clipped it at the base of my neck. That didn't work, either. I still kept pushing.

But the longer I walked, the worse my head felt. I finally admitted defeat and by the time I stepped off the walking pad, I had a full-blown migraine I have no idea what caused it. 

A few hours later, it's finally calmed down to a dull roar, but I am so damn frustrated. I wanted to exercise, craved it, in fact, after two days of inactivity. Yet again, my body betrayed me. Instead of exercising, then working on my novel, I had to put both those things on hold. Again.

I've lived with migraines since high school. While Botox shots every three months keep them at bay for the most part, I still live with daily headaches. I've exhausted treatment options and medications. Even when I have a migraine, I can't find a medicine that works to treat it (my neurologist and I have tried so many that I've lost count). 

So I suffer. 

Sigh.

This sounds like a "poor me" post. It's really just a "I'm frustrated so I need to vent" post. That's the beauty of blogging. I can write whatever I like.

To top all this off, another agent rejection showed up in my inbox. I'm about done trying to sell this novel. No one wants it. Might as well accept it at this point, and keep moving forward on the current WIP.

Though you'd think a novel about fascism and antisemitism in WW2 America might be relevant right about now...but who can understand the publishing business? Not me.

I'll leave you with one of my favorite pieces of art that I saw on my Scotland trip.

This piece, entitled "Reverend Walker" was painted by Sir Henry Raeburn and hangs in the National Galleries of Scotland in Edinburgh. I bought a print of this and it's currently hanging in my apartment