I’ve finished or will be finishing up a lot of things this year: Darkyn series, already completed. The final StarDoc book, sold. My last time hosting LB&LI, over. I’ll turn in my last book under contract in four weeks, and have two more e-books to give away in eight. The rights for all my Gena Hale books have reverted back to me. At the end of December I’ll post the last entry on my photoblog.
Done, done and done.
When I wrap up a project I usually enjoy a decent sense of accomplishment plus the bonus fun of being able to start something new. There, nailed that, now what’s next? Moving on has to happen immediately, though, because if I think too much about what I just did the temptation to go back and mess with it will become unbearable (same logic applies to the writing itself.) I don’t suffer too much separation anxiety; as a series writer I generally maintain a direct, steady connection to what I’ve done, a kind of dynamic writing safety rope that anchors me to the solid ground of what-was-written while I make the next leap to what-will-be-writ.
Disconnecting from the Darkyn line was a wrench, but it was the right thing to do. It’s better to tie it off than hang and dangle, never knowing if or when they’ll decide sales aren’t climbing fast enough and cut it short. I don’t know what will happen when I finish the last StarDoc. This rope stretches all the way back to the first cliff I jumped off in 1998. I hope only that I can let go properly and make the jump to the next rock without falling into the abyss.
I also need to anchor some new lines before I release myself from the old. There are three working months left in the year before December arrives and Publishing shuts down for the holidays. I think that’s going to be my new immediate goal. The other thing is to skirt the pits, which is an ongoing battle.
What keeps me mostly above the abyss is having additional ropes no one can see or touch or control (or cut.) I can think of a dozen times my poetry saved me from a bad fall, or my quilting or painting supported me when nothing else would bear the weight of my troubles. There are friends I can depend on to throw me an extra safety line when I really need it. And while my guy and my kids are tied to me in innumerable ways, and they depend on me to keep ascending, when I slip or start sliding down, they are there to anchor me. They remind me why it’s better to fight for every inch than to give up and plummet into the dark.
It’s not a failsafe system. Two years ago this October I lost someone who meant the world to me. No warning, no time to prepare, just there one day and the next gone forever. I’m no stranger to loss or death, and it’s not the worst thing that’s ever happened to me, but it was so fast and so unexpected that I lost my grip. I fell so hard it took me a month simply to get back on my feet. In time I managed to accept it, and again find enough reasons and ropes to once more climb up into the light, but I’ll carry the scars of that fall, along with all the others, for the rest of my life.
Sometimes we all wonder why we bother, and I wish I could throw you a particular rope and say “This will never fray, or be cut, or snap on you.” Honestly, I don’t think that one rope exists, or that you should ever depend on any one thing to keep you safe. Nor should you entangle yourself in so many ropes that you become confused or can’t decide which one will take you to the next rock. I think you have to figure out the ropes as you go along — maybe that’s where that saying comes from.
But the one thing you can do is to keep some spare lines handy, and when you see someone struggling, toss them one end and help them hold on until they regain their footing. They won’t forget you for that, and the next time you slip, they might be there to do the same for you.
How are you guys handling your ropes?
Image credit: Michael Morris
