Different Lifetimes

I know.  I haven’t been here in ages.  I apologize for that and thank you for stopping by.

I wasn’t here because it hurts too much to try and write.  Even this little bit is painful.  Not physically though my thumbs aren’t moving well today.  No, the pain is mental, emotional.  You see my publisher, who I trusted enough to place a dozen books with, ran into some difficulties and closed down.  (Or so it seems but that’s for another day.)  I became disheartened.  No, that’s not really the right word.  It’s more than that.  It sucked the writing soul right out of me and left me so hurt and angry that the characters who live in my head went into hiding.  The ones who used to whisper blogs to me got so quiet I can no longer hear them.  So all you get to today is me, on my own, trying to string words together that make sense.  It’s a new experience for me, writing on my own.  I don’t like it one bit.  Part of me is petrified that the writer lifetime of me is over.

Like the musician lifetime.  When I was a child I played a string bass.  Quite well actually.  I was good enough to be invited along for an orchestra trip that traveled to a music festival in England.  I auditioned for local events and made it all the way to the state level.  I was loaned out to other schools that didn’t have a bass player and played for their spring musicals.  I even spent several summers at a high quality music camp.  Nope, can’t play now.  Last time I tried it was bad.  Very, very bad.

For part of my college lifetime I was multi-lingual.  I took German and Spanish in high school.  German, Russian and French in college.  I had a study system where I reviewed things in several languages at one time, not just whichever class I was preparing for and English.  It worked tremendously well.  I was good at it.  I was happy making it all blend in my mind.  Sadly once I graduated I didn’t stick with it and most of the things I knew in that lifetime are gone now.

I had a job stitching original models for the design department in a craft kit manufacturing company.  Back then I did beautiful needlework.  All forms of cross stitch and needlepoint.  I remember one piece was a line of bears with sweaters that looked knitted.  Every morning I would top stitch a new expression on each of their faces so I could enjoy them as I worked throughout the day.  Even after I transferred into a different department I continued to stitch.  I drifted away from that years ago.  Recently I came across some things I’d made.  They’re beautiful.  I wonder if my fingers would remember how to do that.   I’m intimidated to try.  I’m afraid it’ll be as much of a disaster as attempting to be musical was.

 

These days I’m knitting.  I learned to do that as a child, taught by my grandmother.  I made a few things and then moved on.  Thirty years later a friend inspired me to try knitting again.  I’m happy to say that it came back.  You should see the socks I’ve made!  And the reversible scarf!

  I’m thrilled with them but not.  They seem to be draining away all my creative energy.

Which takes me back to writing.  I don’t know if knitting is actually using up my creativity or giving me an outlet to keep my head from exploding while my characters are in exile.  I’m very restless these days.  I haven’t been able to sit still long enough to knit lately.  Upsetting as I’m in the middle of several projects that I really want to finish.   I weave magic into my knitting and I don’t want it to go wasted.  That would not be cool, trust me.

So there is change coming.  A new lifetime starting.  No, I don’t know what it will be.  I’m not even sure I want to know.  My only hope is that I don’t lose what I’ve learned in the last ones this time.  Maybe, someday, the universe will give everything back at once.  Wouldn’t that be amazing?  Can you imagine me able to do all that I ever could?