The Essayist's Mind
I haven't been blogging much this year. Because I've been tracking my daily word counts (with the exception of the first week of this month, when I was too sick to care, much less write) all year, I can actually see it. My wordcount for nonfiction has been wavering, and if I don't pay attention, it may go out entirely. There are a few reasons. One, the big, obvious, elephant-in-the-room one is that it is 2020. It's been a stressful year, she says lightly, glossing over the dips and valleys and mental anguish. It's difficult to find the time and energy to write.
There are underlying stresses that lead to not-writing as well. I haven't had the time to do the research I require of myself to write science articles. Past job, I could and did read professional material and that fed my mind with all sorts of interesting and discussion-worthy thoughts. This last year, I've missed that badly, so badly. I've tried to make time for it, on my own time, but, well, that's not happening. The other thing is that I have kicked Sanderley Studios from a long, slow simmer of 'generate backlist to be retirement income' into the full boil of 'need to draw a salary off you.' which has been exhausting, and challenging, and only moderately successful so far because I am a tiny voice crying in the wilderness and that brings me to the last thing.
I know you've noticed. And I deeply appreciate the questions about how I'm doing. I'm doing... not as well as I let leak out. The mental of this year has been worse than the physical. As I told a friend recently, my emotional side of the brain is not talking to the logical side. That, and just recently, I've realized how angry I am on the inside. I try not to show all of this turmoil, but it seems to be coming out will I or nil I. So? Heck with it. I'm writing about it anyway. I'm not brave. I know I'm not alone in this struggle. There are a lot of people who are lost, afraid, and angry, among other things. Humans are rarely one-note emotional. No, we're more symphonic metal grooves of high notes, lows, and some screechy steel strings mixed in there to jar you.
Someone reading this might assume it's the national level news that is upsetting me. You'd mostly be wrong. It isn't the big, obvious battleground. I don't really want to let the anger out. I'm still trying to pick apart the emotional and logical parts of the essay I've been debating writing. Because what I want to say will upset some people, and that's not generally what I try to do. I'd rather encourage and support and help people learn. This is... difficult. Some people don't want to learn. Some people want to draw their cloaks of ignorance and fear tighter around them, and hide in their warm glow of self-righteousness. Heaven help you if you rip that away from them and show them the death and destruction that lies in the near future. That their inaction caused, because they are far more concerned about themselves than they are about doing their jobs. While the superficial minded laud them as heroes. I want to rage about that. But I'm going to restrain myself.
This year has been insane. I use that word not for hyperbole, but with all seriousness. I can use it. I have been. I'm not there, now. Just a little ill, and working on recovering. Being aware is important. Being proactive to see what's going on inside your own head is essential to managing to cope with it. You see, when I was lost before? That was because I was driven to it. Just like 2020 has been driven by ignorance, power-seeking, gas-lighting, and cowardice. I wound up needing help that was outside my own head, to find my way back. I'm not sure our world has that sort of option. The suppression of free speech has been chilling me to the core. First, they came for the second amendment. Now, they come for the first. It's insane.
And that is why I cannot let myself fall silent. I must find the words to speak. The darkness is coming, but on the other side of it is morning again. History shows us that. If my small voice can be of help in keeping hope alive, then I will croak on no matter how hoarse I get. Don't give up. Don't listen to the doomsayers. Recovery is possible from all manners of ills.