My mind's been a mess these past couple of days, as I'm getting very close to finishing the first draft of my book. Even now, I'm kinda all over the place, as I just finished a very demanding chapter. Penultimate one. This is the second book in a fantasy trilogy I'm doing, and of which I hope, one way or another, to have the first book out by the year's end.
It's the first project of this magnitude, and to say I've learned a lot is something of an understatement. I used to look at that word count in awe, and once it reached something like 70k words, I'd be all pats on the back. Now, I hardly notice it. It's become a sideshow to the story. It's weird, holding so much of the story in your head. Definitely different from writing a short story, and even a standalone novel. With a trilogy, there's so much room for change as you go.
And oh my, the growth. The characters are in places I would've never envisioned when I first started writing this. I love who they are now more than I can tell you, and I love where they're going.
Anyway. Much of writing a book, at least in my experience, is a pretty hectic, doubt-ridden process, even as I make my way through the first draft. But not these past few days. Now, I know how each character ends the book, so it's more a matter of laying them all out than fixing issues, or coming up with ideas that work for the plot. It's much easier, in ways, much more focused.
And yet, the single most out-of-this-plane experience I've known. When I come back, I'm told I have this transfixed, stupefied expression. But that's because my brain's not quite there. It's still struggling to adjust to this world, which isn't the reality it's been invested in for the past few hours. I can't think of a more heartening example of the human brain's capacity for creation.
Art, man. Fucking art. Making up a world, where you can move at will, free of charge.
We were just on a ship, and my body's still swaying a little. I'm watching a bee moving in a tree out my window, and it doesn't feel real.
So during these days, I find ways to ground myself, when the writing's stopped for the day, and I'm floating. Yesterday, I made cake. I love baking, always have, though summer's a particularly tricky baking period. You don't wanna eat. I don't wanna eat things at all, let alone heavy baked goods (not to mention stand in the heat while they're baking). So I went to an easy, all-time summer favorite. The cheesecake.
Me and cheesecake have come a long way. I used to disregard any cake that wasn't made of chocolate. Even my cheesecake used to feature a heavy dose of cocoa, making it look kinda like a chocolate cake. But what can you do, you grow up, even chocolate loses its appeal (just kidding. I'd probably trade my library for chocolate).
See, I needed something to make the world real to me again. I like walking, but that's no good, because it lets your mind wander. I like to dance, particularly after a long writing session, to bring me back into my own body, but that don't last long enough.
So, cheesecake. There's something undeniably tethering in making something. Cooking something is still art of a kind, because you're making something real. It's greatly therapeutic, particularly for when your mind's a-wandering. Especially if you don't have a recipe to follow, and just go by guesswork. Then, you've gotta be real present, to make sure you don't burn anything. Or mess up the blend into a yucky sugar-y mess.
Cheesecake is one of the very few desserts I find tolerable in the heat, because it's cool, and laden with berries. Besides, it's minimal work. Essentially, it's just the crust (buttery mashed biscuits) that brown in the oven for about 10 mins, and you're done. I know a lot of people do it with cream cheese, but for me, mascarpone's a guilty pleasure. So essentially, that's that. Mascarpone with heavy cream, and a little sugar (I am not a fan of all these overly sweet treats. And with cheesecakes, I don't see the point, since the fruit's sweet anyhow). Topped with berries of any color and shape, and voila.
I made myself a lovely, light summer treat all out of nothing. Well, out of ingredients. Kinda like making a story. What are stories made of? I don't know, but what do you think?
More importantly, how do you ground yourself when your mind goes wonky? What's your go-to tethering method?
I know the pictures themselves are quite hectic, but it was all very organic. The mood for cooking, the flow, there was no space for careful arrangements. And maybe a little organic disorder's fine.
