#26 Between edits
This week, on Blue Monday, I sent my manuscript to my publisher— Yeeeeh! (I would like to celebrate with champagne or cava, but it’s too early in the morning, so imagine me raising a cup of coffee instead.) It’s the 8th version, and despite I feel it is getting better and better, I cannot deny it: it’s getting hard to read. The very moment I hit the “send” button, I felt I had time to think about something else, which is not entirely accurate, but that’s how the brain (mine, at least) is wired. One task down, run to the next one. I’ve felt like this many times before, whenever I worked on long projects, and I know many of my former colleagues can relate: no matter how much you’ve invested in something, there is always a moment when you turn into one of your kids and scream to the Universe: “Are we there yet?!” But, as it happened before, the despairing feeling fades as soon as the target is visible, and I can tell you, I’m not stopping until I have the book in my hands in —at least— three languages. That’s it. I cannot stop… I have to think about business plans and strategic decisions for Unwritten, my first novel, to land in bookstores around the world, but the thing I want to do the most now is to write. I’m a writer who wants to write, weird, eh?
I’ve been working on my second novel since September (that’s not the only thing I’ve been doing or writing, but this is the next story I want to publish.) At first—between edits of my first novel— I thought things were going so well that I could finish the first draft by the end of the year, but that turned out to be unrealistic and silly. Once the next round of edits touched my mailbox and my kids started the dramas associated with the new school year, it was clear I was in trouble. Worst of all, I was responsible for it. So, it’s 22nd January, and I’m close to half of my target. I’ve promised myself I would write at least a thousand words per day and not suffer about it, but still, well… you know… I keep suffering a bit. Right now, I believe it’s part of my tormented writer era, which hopefully will be followed by the renowned author phase…; yes, I know I’m projecting a lot, but that’s because I don’t have yet a marketing team to do it for me :)
The working title of my second novel is “I Don’t.” This morning, it made me laugh and a little sad because I’m not a monster… Judge yourself, and let me know how it made you feel. Writing is sometimes a lonely business; all feedback is really appreciated.
I had only been on a plane once before that day when I visited London with Alberto years earlier. The flight tickets were a gift for my birthday, the first we spent together. I had always wanted to visit the city and even created an itinerary with all the places I wanted to see—museums, palaces, parks, and shops. So, when I opened the envelope containing the promise of a romantic weekend getaway, I was as happy as anyone could be. Alberto told me the tickets were quite expensive and asked if I would mind covering part of the expenses—which I agreed to do, of course. That’s when I learned about the plan and itinerary. I paid my share for two nights at the hotel, a Champions League soccer match ticket, meals, snacks, and drinks. Unfortunately, there was no time for parks because it was raining, or for museums and palaces because, as Alberto said, they were crowded, but I did manage to buy a magnet for my fridge on our way back home. It took me three months to recover from the financial hit my credit card took during that holiday. Still, Alberto always claimed I wouldn’t forget it, which was true: I never forgot how terrible my finances were then. After that experience, our couple holidays were reduced to road trips within our country’s borders, avoiding language barriers or currency conversions.
It was like we had decided that adventures weren’t our thing, but I never realized that until that day when I was trying to close my suitcase before Ernesto picked me up to go to the airport. I had always thought Alberto and I were on the right path, doing what I had seen my friends do with their boyfriends, but the more I met brides who didn’t want to marry, the more I thought about what would have happened if I had tied the knot with him.
