Although Friday night is my "stay up all night and write fiction" night, and I'm having a blast editing Visage, I think that will be challenging to accomplish over the next few weeks.
Friday nights, for we Eastern Orthodox Christians, is a time to celebrate The Liturgy of the Presanctified Gifts, an ancient liturgical celebration for distributing the Eucharist during weekdays of the Great Fast.
Since I belong to a teeny tiny mission church forty miles from home, and I'm a terrible night driver, eyesight-wise and the fact I take the drowsy portion of my antihistamines for chronic urticaria at night , I'm blessed to have one good friend in the area who also belongs to that church and offers to do the driving.
The past two weeks, after liturgy, several of us have gone out for Chinese, so it's generally after ten o'clock before I return home, relaxed, sleepy, and not at all brain-sharp to be editing a manuscript, despite the full pot of coffee I put on the second I stumble through the door.
On this particular Friday night, despite staying up a long, long time, I didn't get very far with my second book. I resolved to pick up the slack during the weekend, and then I made some other choices on how to spend my time, which had absolutely nothing to do with writing and absolutely everything with stepping out of the attic for a change and mingling with the rest of the world.
The past couple of years have brought major upheavals, which are by no means vanquished, and several more are looming on the horizon. Some are painful; others are frustrating; some are scary; and still others are absolutely exhilarating, but all are changing my life as I know it, which is tumbling down like a house of cards, except for that which is cornerstone: faith, family, friends, and the ability to chronicle stories in a profound and meaningful way.
My reaction to all this? I'm hanging on tightly, eyes wide open, determined to ride that glorious ride.
The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy; I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full. John 10:10.
Friday nights, for we Eastern Orthodox Christians, is a time to celebrate The Liturgy of the Presanctified Gifts, an ancient liturgical celebration for distributing the Eucharist during weekdays of the Great Fast.
Since I belong to a teeny tiny mission church forty miles from home, and I'm a terrible night driver, eyesight-wise and the fact I take the drowsy portion of my antihistamines for chronic urticaria at night , I'm blessed to have one good friend in the area who also belongs to that church and offers to do the driving.
The past two weeks, after liturgy, several of us have gone out for Chinese, so it's generally after ten o'clock before I return home, relaxed, sleepy, and not at all brain-sharp to be editing a manuscript, despite the full pot of coffee I put on the second I stumble through the door.
On this particular Friday night, despite staying up a long, long time, I didn't get very far with my second book. I resolved to pick up the slack during the weekend, and then I made some other choices on how to spend my time, which had absolutely nothing to do with writing and absolutely everything with stepping out of the attic for a change and mingling with the rest of the world.
The past couple of years have brought major upheavals, which are by no means vanquished, and several more are looming on the horizon. Some are painful; others are frustrating; some are scary; and still others are absolutely exhilarating, but all are changing my life as I know it, which is tumbling down like a house of cards, except for that which is cornerstone: faith, family, friends, and the ability to chronicle stories in a profound and meaningful way.
My reaction to all this? I'm hanging on tightly, eyes wide open, determined to ride that glorious ride.
The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy; I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full. John 10:10.
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