Gwynnie Bee and Ennui
So.
I'm depressed, lately. Or maybe "depressed" isn't the word for it. I feel frozen in a quagmire of failure. I am a failure. I cannot do anything right. That kind of thing.
BUT... I do love my latest Gwynnie Bee dress. This is my favorite of them all so far, and I am sorely tempted to buy it. I hesitated to pick it for my 'closet', actually, because the catalog photo isn't flattering. So glad I took a chance on it. Not only is it very flattering, but the pleated skirt swooshes in a very pleasing way as I walk. I make excuses to walk more in it, and look down frequently to admire the bright blue waves of fabric fluttering around my feet. This dress is sartorial prozac. I wore it again today precisely because I'm feeling so down.
Another way I'm trying to combat the feelings of inadequacy and helplessness is by making myself very small to-do items. Things I know I can do. So often I sent 'to dos' I don't really know how to do, or that require many, unknown intermediate steps. "Write a new story" is not a good "to do" list item. "Write the next scene in that story -the one where Blaine escapes from the government agents" is. Or, well, it's closer. "Write one sentence, even if it is terrible," is better.
Not loving my body of work, right now, and not feeling motivated to create new fiction. I was madly in love with "Butterflies on Barbed Wire", and I want that love again. I know it won't come in a first draft. So I'm reading a lot of pulpy stuff now to try to re-capture what I love about fiction.