MY BOOK CAMPAIGN

I signed a contract! How exciting is that?!

(I was taught by my mentor only to use exclamation marks in extreme circumstances – writing should speak for itself. But this is a pretty extreme situation. Don’t you think?)

SO, WHAT NOW IS THE BIG THING.

Writing a book was a mighty endeavour – one I never really dreamed of – but slowly as I wrote more and more, and was encouraged more and more, I started to think it was an achievable reality. And while I’m not yet holding a book in my hot little hands, I know I will be by the end of the year.

I signed a hybrid publishing deal with Koehler Books and the ball is rolling. I’ve had a couple of crack-of-dawn zoom meetings and seen the publishing timeline. The target date is 23 November 2021. It seems forever away and it will be no time at all.

I have learned that publishing is a very complicated process and one not easily undertaken. Apparently, most people who write a book give up on publishing because it becomes too hard. And many people who do publish a book barely sell 50 copies. While that doesn’t seem very encouraging, if I sell more than 50 copies I know I will have done well. I have 142 presales so perhaps that counts. Or perhaps not. Regardless, my goal is to sell more than 50 copies – a lot more – once it is in print.

THE PROCESS UP UNTIL NOW HAS BEEN DAUNTING

My manuscript assessor Julie Gray asked me to write about my experience for her blog. Apparently, a lot of writers give up at this point because it all feels too overwhelming and too expensive. I had so much to say that I turned one post into two. I am nothing if not verbose. This bit hasn’t been particularly enjoyable – the bit between completing my manuscript and signing the contract. I really was floundering in unknown waters but I feel like I’ve been handed a life raft and I’m now sailing forward with my hand held.

There’s still a lot of work for me to do – hybrid publishing is a collaborative deal. But a lot of the guesswork has been taken away. Now I have guidance.

We’re getting into the nitty-gritty of the process now. I hope you’re watching this space, because not too far down the track I’ll be seeking your opinion on possible title changes and graphic design options for my book.

While all the behind-the-scenes magic is happening I need to dust off my writing cape and start writing again. My mental health has been an up-down road for a long time. In the past year, there have been an awful lot of ups but the current state of affairs is a bit of a down. I’m relying on my favourite old mantra – this too shall pass. It’s difficult to get creative when getting out of bed is a major challenge.

BUT I’M HERE

And I’m not turning back. I wrote a book and now it’s going to get out there. No mental health slump is going to get in my way. I’ve been stalked by demons but I am guarded by angels. Watch this space.

WHEN SLEEP FINALLY COMES

As an insomniac, I know I often use the words “never” or “none at all.” “I’ve been awake all night.” “For days on end.” But most of the time, an exhausting sleep still involves some sleep.

I have gone several days with no sleep at all and I know this is true because I don’t even get to bed – I’m super productive but dripping with fatigue for 72 hours. But when I’ve felt I’ve gone weeks with no sleep, in reality, I’ve had 20 minutes here and there. The occasional hour.

And my normal insomnia looks like a 2-hour sleep followed by several blocks of 20 minutes or an hour occasionally. It adds up to around 4 hours in all.

How much sleep do I need?

To feel truly rested, I need a minimum 4 hours of unbroken, solid sleep. Followed up with a couple of hours of dozing.

To continue reading please visit:

https://insomnia.sleep-disorders.net/living/celebrating-true-rest/

Image and links courtesy of Health Union and https://insomnia.sleep-disorders.net

ADVENTURES IN WRITING LAND: PART TWO

I found the most fabulous manuscript assessor for my book – the inimitable Julie Gray. She recently asked me to contribute a guest post on her blog, regarding my experience with bringing a manuscript to publication. I wrote so many words that it turned into two posts.

You don’t know what you don’t know.

You can’t learn how to drive a car on YouTube. Without actually getting in the driver’s seat there’s no momentum. And without outside expertise there’s a lot of swerving, near misses and potential crashes along the way.

Publishing is much the same. I developed my masterpiece in solitude. Honed it under the guidance of a mentor then sent it to Julie Gray for expert professional assessment. My shiny new object was now as polished as I knew how and I was ready to present it to the world.

To continue reading, please visit Julie Gray Developmental Editing. Do pop over and have a look – it’s well worth the read 😀

CRACKED

Once upon a time, I was a whole egg. My runny, gooey insides were safely cocooned in a solid, outer shell. I felt whole.

Then I fell off my perch and the shell cracked. The soggy, fragile contents spilled out and there was nothing holding me together. I was a mess.

I shook and I wept and I panicked. Sorrow and sadness wrapped themselves around me like a cloak. I learned really bad ways of avoiding the emotional baggage I’d hidden away all my life. I didn’t know how to cope anymore.

The trouble with breaking something as brittle as a shell is it can never go back to the way it was. It can be patched and stitched and glued. It can be held together with band-aids or covered in clingfilm. But it can never be whole again.

I AM ETERNALLY CRACKED

Day after day, year after year, I wait for the girl I used to be. Someone who didn’t panic at the drop of the hat. Filled with boundless energy and eternal optimism. Someone with hopes and dreams. I used to be that girl. The one you could depend on to do stuff – because I had the fortitude for it.

I can’t do those things anymore. I’ve reached the ripe old age of 55 so perhaps my mind and body are just starting to slow down. But they’re a bit hasty. I’m too young to be old.

I don’t know how to repair my cracked shell. I’ve done five years of psychological therapies – inpatient and outpatient. I’ve googled. Talked hundreds of hours to my poor, patient friends. Written a gazillion words. Still – I feel fractured. I can’t seem to keep my shit together for any great length of time.

Since coming out of hospital – almost a whole year now – I have become stronger and stronger. I’ve had some really great days – even great months – but I have an acute awareness of my limitations now. Especially energy. I’m very easily worn out from peopling. The wearing out is not just mental, it’s physical.

The past month I’ve been under a cloud of malaise – barely able to get out of bed. Dragging my weary ass around to the occasional outing outside my house.

IT REALLY PISSES ME OFF

I want to be able to peg out washing, walk to the beach, write articles, have coffee with friends, edit biographies, go to the gym, create posters, stack the dishwasher, attend appointments, moderate forums, feed the cat and maybe even talk to people. I want to do all those things in one day – and then repeat again after a good sleep. I can’t.

When I push myself I end up in a hole. Like I’m in now. Being incapable of doing a bit of part-time work from home feels feeble. It’s embarrassing. I used to work full-time and a half, run a household and engage in a busy social life. The cat was well fed. I miss those days.

I grieve for those days. But if there’s one thing I learned in Dialectical Behaviour Therapy (DBT), it’s the concept of radical acceptance. I can bash my head against my cracked shell but it won’t make the shell any more whole – it will just hurt my head. Accepting the inevitability of change and my current life circumstances almost makes it easier to bear. The outcome is no different – I still feel lazy and useless most of the time. But at least I’m more rested while engaging in self-deprecating thought processes.

When the soul tires the best solution is to rest. It seems so obvious but it doesn’t feel good and I’m still filled with a yearning for the old me. So, I’ve rested. I’ve stopped forcing myself to engage in activities that wear me out even more. I let myself be lazy. It’s like putting band-aids on a broken eggshell but at least the pieces are holding together just a little bit.

I’M PATCHING THINGS UP

I can’t return to the old me. She’s gone. Forever. Perhaps that’s a good thing. Perhaps it’s not. It doesn’t matter – I can’t change it. A whole pile of people in my life never met the old me.

The new me has emerged over the last five years and she’s more tired and fragile. Much more prone to isolating when the going gets tough. It’s called self-preservation. I haven’t always had a high level of self-preservation – this is new territory for me.

In the meantime, I’m piecing myself back together again and while my trajectory is generally forward, every now and then it’s stagnant. I’m regrouping, ready to move forward and see what this new patched egg looks like.

ADVENTURES IN WRITING LAND: PART ONE

I found the most fabulous manuscript assessor for my book – the inimitable Julie Gray. She recently asked me to contribute a guest post on her blog, regarding my experience with bringing a manuscript to publication. I wrote so many words that it turned into two posts.

I’m brewing a baby. Not a human one – I did that last century – but a masterpiece of penmanship. That’s my end goal anyway. For now, I have a manuscript and a jolly good one I’ve been told.

So, what next?

I gestated this baby for two years and after much angst a manuscript emerged. I held her in my sweaty palms, staring with pride and relief. She was mine and mine alone.

I soon introduced her to friends and family and they thought she was marvellous. Perfect. But family can be biased and it takes a village to raise a child – as they say in Africa.

To continue reading, please visit Julie Gray Developmental Editing. Do pop over and have a look – it’s well worth the read 😀

SPOON THEORY

I feel like it is time for me to come to terms with the fact I’m living with chronic illness.

Chronic: [adjective] continuing or occurring again and again for a long time

I think when most people think of chronic illness they think of diseases like cancer, arthritis or multiple sclerosis. Or conditions such as fibromyalgia or chronic fatigue syndrome. I feel like it’s important to point out that mental illness is also a chronic illness – it occurs again and again for a long time.

When I spent the first fifty years of my life living with excellent health and wellness I had no idea that I would one day be dealing with chronic mental health issues. No idea whatsoever.

IN FACT I STILL THINK IT’S NOT TRUE

But it is. The past few weeks of burnout have shown me I have limitations that weren’t previously there. A weekend of socialising at a church conference has left me barely able to get out of bed or brush my teeth.

Have you heard of Spoon Theory? Originally developed by Christine Miserandino, it is a metaphor that succinctly describes the amount of energy expended each day on tasks and activities. When you live with a chronic illness, you have fewer spoons than the average person.

Perhaps it sounds feeble to someone experiencing excellent physical and mental health. Good for you. I’m happy for you. For those of us not experiencing excellent physical and/or mental health, it can soften the blow of the expectations we place upon ourselves. Brushing my teeth is 1/12 of my daily energy quota. Working is currently beyond my capacity. If I do all the one and two spoon things, there are no spoons left. This is why my vacuum cleaner is dusty and there is a colony of daddy-long-legs living in my stairwell.

I am secretly hoping this is a passing phase in my life. That one day in the not too distant future my daily spoon count will once again increase. But for now, trying to push myself to do more than my body is fully capable of is not doing me any favours.

My current mental health state is not particularly awful – I’m not engaging in previously common maladaptive behaviours or eating disorder practices. I haven’t experienced suicidal ideation for a long, long time. Depression and anxiety are my daily buddies but they travel behind me at a discreet distance. Regardless – right now I struggle. And I cannot find a particular defining event that has made me struggle at this point in time.

PERHAPS THERE DOESN’T NEED TO BE A REASON

I was diagnosed with bipolar II disorder when I was in the clinic last year. This diagnosis has been questioned but has always felt kind of right to me. I think if bipolar sat on a spectrum (perhaps it does) I’m not at the pointy end – which is why it is hard to pinpoint exactly for me. But assuming I am prone to fluctuating from high to low mood, then my current physical malaise could well be a reflection of a low mood cycle. Which means I am looking forward to the high cycle that should be just around the corner. Then I’ll have 50 spoons a day to play with.

Until then, I need to pat myself on the back for cleaning the toilets and pegging out the washing. Writing a blog post is icing on the cake. That makes for a great day.