I started writing again. It needs a lot of work, but I started writing. I may post it to CA later, but for the moment I have it saved on a thumb drive. I’ve also started working on an outline.
I’m having to scrap Blackbird (or at least put it on hold), as I’m struggling to find Vaeramae’s voice. She’s there, but she eludes me. For whatever reason, I can “hear” her when I write from someone else’s POV or from third person. First person is just a mess. I still want to write the story, but it may be easier from someone else’s point of view. Perhaps Cinnia (which is Celtic for “beauty” and seemed appropriate for one of the Fair Folk. I should also point out that for Cinnia, third person is a mess, but first person works fantastically well for her), who becomes involved in mortal affairs simply because she wanted something to do. She readily admits that she’s not a hero. She’s an observer, a storyteller.
I’m rereading The Princess Bride and I’m seriously considering picking up The Hunger Games trilogy. I really enjoyed the first book and I’m anxious to borrow the next two from a friend of mine. The present tense of the story threw me off a little, but once I was used to it, the story flowed.
The big thing that’s looming over me is my ex dying. I feel as though I’m on a death watch and I find that depressing. He’s trying to do as much as he can before his body gives out on him. All I seem to do day to day is wonder if he’s alive, if I’ll be getting that phone call. I feel like an awful person, but I don’t know what else to do. Death would be far easier than to watch someone slowly die. There’s nothing that can be done. Sure, he could extend his life by a year, but then what? Spend that final year paying off medical debt? Doesn’t seem like much of a choice. He’s done hurting, done fighting his body, done being on all manner of medication, and done feeling worse while being on said medication than when he’s not on them. I can understand his sentiment.
Short of the long: I have no idea what to do. We work really well as friends, but as romantic partners we were awful together. So we go to watch movies, catch a ball game, hang out with mutual friends, he plays as many miniature games as possible. All the while, he’s working on his will, getting his estate in order, picking out an executor for his will, and doing what he can.
It’s the feeling of helplessness that bothers me most. There are lots of things that could be done, but knowing that those procedures would only help for about six months to a year and prolong the pain I understand the decision to not do anything. I won’t go into the details, but I’ll leave it at the fact that I now weigh more than he does. He, who used to run marathons for fun.
I feel so lost. I wish I didn’t.