So here I am at 11:09pm, not too much longer before I have to hang it up for the night. Wrote some earlier today, but not in the right headspace to cram in the first few paragraphs of a new chapter. On the plus side, the way I figure it, I'm about a third of the way through Eyes of Odyssium #3, with just shy of 30K words and aiming for 90K total.
In that light, it's going well. However, I'm noticing a lot of things creeping into the subtext of this book. It's by far Salla's most personal journey, and it's making me look at a lot of the thematic elements that have been a part of his arc for the last 4 books (plus his novella in the Collection). Some of those things that I'm really identifying with, things that are coming from how things are with me are really pushing their way to the front. Who knows if they'll make the final draft. Probably...I think I'm keeping it buried enough at the moment. I don't want this to be a downer book regardless of the fact this was always intended to be a rough book, emotionally speaking. So, we'll see.
I've always had issues with depression in some shape or form. I've never dealt with it because I'm sure it's absolute peanuts compared to what some of you out there have to contend with day in and day out. This is probably the first time I've written something in a long time that's been a weird battle like this. I still am getting the usual exhilaration out of what I'm doing--I feel like this book has a lot of the makings of something really special, in fact. However, I've been doing it in the middle of a bit of a down phase, and maybe that's why these things are trickling in and I'm using them perhaps to the benefit (or detriment--time will tell) of the book.
I doubt I'll do any kind of social media splash for this particular Od-blog. I imagine I'll post it and let it simply be, a fragment of digital debris in the cluttered blogosphere of hopeful writers. Perhaps...just maybe I'll find it a few years down the road and remember how things were when I was writing Eyes #3 and have that eureka moment when I say to myself "that's why that book was so amazing. You were rife with inner turmoil and aging man-angst and a heightened state of mental self-sabotage. THAT'S why it was so good."
Or terrible.
You never know, but I THINK it'll be good. That's one thing I'll be able to say at the end of the day. Even if I couldn't be proud of myself, I could be proud of what wound up on the page that I left behind.