I’m having trouble trying to decide where to start this post. Mostly because I was at work for nearly 12 hours today and doing something resembling work for at least 10 of them (I can call the other two “team building, right?). I’m tired. And hungry, even though I just ate.
But I’m not here to complain.
Not about the long hours, anyway.
You see, something unusual happened to me this weekend. It was a long one for me (my company gives one Friday off a month) and I spent the Friday doing house and grown up things that need to be done when one is a grown up with a house (called insurance company about last year’s hail claim, mowed lawn, took out trash, called doctor, etc.).
Some of that is unusual.
But that’s not what I want to talk about. Friday night I joined my parents and their dog on a jaunt out to the lake, as it was Mother’s Day. We had a nice visit, hung around in the sun, did some shopping for plants, visited with my cousin, her son, and his puppy, who is only three months and adorably tiny (unlike the baby tiger below – added for visual interest).
I even read a book or two.
Okay, so it was a newer Clive Cussler that my dad left on his bedside table. Nothing fancy or terribly thought provoking, but it was a fun read for a few hours. Brain candy is sometimes healthy, right? Anyway, there was a scene in it that involved a husband and wife in mortal danger, which reminded me somewhat tangentially of a scene in the possible sequel to “Fighter One” (which I drafted during a NaNoWriMo a few years back). I was curious if my memory of what I had written was correct, so I re-read the draft. And ended up also reading the draft of the next in the series after that.
The strange thing? I couldn’t put my own books down. It was kind of like when I read “The Hunger Games” after having watched the movie: I knew how it ended, but I was compelled to keep on reading just to be sure. And it was enjoyable. Much more so than reading the first in the series is right now (after I’ve torn it completely apart and put it back together backwards… twice). I actually really enjoyed reading the books.
Now, they aren’t the pinnacle of literary brilliance, I know that. They’re first drafts, and NaNo drafts at that. But the potential is what amazed me. And, more than anything right now, I desperately want to re-write those two books, and finish the series (I know exactly how it will end. It’s wonderful and poignant and circular and beautiful, and the changes that I’ve made to the first book will only make the last one better). Which means finishing the first in the series, but I’ve been looking for the motivation to do that for a few months anyway.
The big problem? The darn day job! I really wished the weekend had been a few days longer so that I could have capitalized on the wave of motivation that I felt. Since that cannot be, I’ll just have to keep reminding myself of the feeling until I make the time to actually sit down and write again. Maybe over the (next) long weekend.
Have you ever completely surprised yourself with your own talent?