Saturday, April 23, 2005
Rainy and cool
I can’t believe how tired I am. I also can’t believe I lost the whole day yesterday due to errands! Picked up my checks at two theatres ten blocks apart from each other; did the banking; got back out here; ran around getting the rest of the items for the basket – and then, the basket I wanted to use broke, because the weight of the salts was too much! In desperation, I bought a steel planter, but that wasn’t right, so drove out to Larchmont to one of my favorite shops and found a reasonably priced, sturdy, lovely oval basket.
So I need to repack everything.
Had to make another batch of Rosemerta Abundance Salts, because the one decanter is so enormous that the batch I made (which makes about 18 jars’ worth) barely half-filled it. Yesterday was an okay day to make bath salts, not the best possible one.
Made up the 39 sample bags of salts (13 bags of each type: healing, abundance, and romance), made all the labels, put everything together, ran the cards and flyers. Put that whole package together. Finally found some really nice raffia to go inside the basket.
Re-sent 40 issues of the serials out. It felt like 400, but, to be fair, it was only 40. My editor frantically needed some of the issues – even though she’d sent me a confirmation that she received them well over a week ago. Everything is caught up and ahead except Widow’s Chamber, and I owe a few get-ahead issues of Charlotte.
I’m going to write a proposal for an Artist-in-Residence program in Maryland. It’s due on June 1. I sent questions to be answered so I can craft the best possible proposal – it’s been nearly a week and they haven’t responded, which sets off warning bells.
Hope Clarke, of Funds for Writers, asked for writers interested in mentoring teens, and I offered. I wish I’d had a mentor growing up. I had to muddle through it all by myself. I’m still muddling. But maybe I can help someone else.
My “mentors” were Louisa May Alcott and Harriet Beecher Stowe – who still often serve as muses. Emily Dickinson hovers around the fringes there, shaking her head at my uselessness at writing poetry. But those three writers had the most influence on my life since I was about six years old (I wrote my first piece at age 6 – it’s still in a family scrapbook somewhere). And, of course, Shakespeare. I picked up paperbacks of Hamlet and Macbeth in the 2 for $1 bin at Woolworth’s (remember Woolworth’s? I miss them) here in town. I was immediately hooked on Shakespeare for life. I was eight, in the second grade. Of course, I appreciate them much more now, but the rhythm of the language drew me in then.
If I’d had a mentor, would I have stopped writing for a ten-year period in my twenties? In other words, am I where I’m supposed to be, or am I ten years behind?
Everything happens for a reason. I have to trust in that and move forward, not look back. Because, looking back for anything except material isn’t going to help.
"Impressions" is getting a wonderful response. Maybe I can do more with these characters. Cape Cod and its unique environmental aspects are so much a part of my soul that it would be lovely to communicate it through fiction. And not as a device, but as an entity unto itself.
I look around the room at the stuff stacked everywhere (much of it having to do with Friday’s event) that I have no idea how I’ll pull it all together for company next week.
One step at time, I guess, one step at a time.
Today’s priorities: Widow’s Chamber, Charlotte, and finishing the horse racing article once today’s races are complete.
Ransagh is calling again.
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