Alice Buell Lawrence

Practicality can be rather a nuisance.

In my case, this practicality was in packing up my life and moving across the US, starting over, starting anew. I find it harder to be symbolic when the very real needs of finding the packing tape or buying a mattress come to the fore. It has been almost a month since I got here, a month since I started my new job, and the words are filtering back down, like water that is clearing after the silt and sediment of a storm. I’m slowly working on editing again. Want to jump back on the publishing train.

For me, it’s still all about getting my complete novel published. Much editing to do there, but that is still my ultimate goal. I’m still picking at writing two others, but right now those are in fits and starts. I highly doubt this could ever be my living – what a thrill if it could be! – but I want to know that I pushed my art as far as I could, that I was a good steward to my brain’s creations.

I live alone now, so the clacking of the keyboard feels so much more hollow, so much more impactful. I’ll get the rhythm down. Look out tiny publications: here I come.