The end of Summer here in San Diego isn't so much an ending as it is a swelling, a building up. It gets hot, sticky, still. We're an irrigated desert and we forget it. Between the sea and the mountains, we get trapped in the heat. Ay.
I've been feeling a little strange the last few days. Full in my body and my mind but extraordinarily lazy too. Not morose or melancholic but like a dog in heat, panting, trying to find a cool spot for my body and breathing. I feel like overripe fruit, too heavy to bear the weight of myself but if I drop, I'll burst.
This morning in my meditation I came to the truth that I am overripe. I have been doing way too much research and planning when it comes to the fantasy novel. I've been so caught up in the how of things that I've forgotten the why. I'm stuffed full of Joseph Campbell, Mexican and Central American Pre-Colombian mythology, plot ideas, themes around masculine v. feminine power. Ugh. I need to release the valve and just finish telling my story. My character doesn't care about patriarchy, she has people to find. My antagonists aren't concerned about the symbolism of fire, they want to take someone down. My beautiful beast has a mission and isn't at all interested in his role as the stranger on the road. I need to get over it and get under it, into it.
My friends recommended a couple of Steven Pressfield books to me and I am really enjoying Do the Work. A no bullshit look at writing and the creative process.
I have a writing playlist. I have songs in my head as I work on the book. I looked at it and realized it is mostly Aterciopelados. Andrea Echeverri is pretty much my favorite singer of all time. Her lyrics slay me, her music thrills me. It embodies the kind of woman I want to be. She gets to a truth in her music that drives my writing, living. She pretty much has a song for every chapter in the book.