21 January 2013

Cocoon

Wow. I came over here to post and I had to sign in. It's been so long since I wrote anything my blog has forgotten me.

I've been in a vacuum. Or perhaps cocoon is more apt. I've been spinning in the silk of daily life, wrapping myself up in the process of restoring my house to its natural order, or disorder, depending on the day.

When Mom and Pappou moved in we shifted Two and Three to rooms downstairs. When my sister Erin came in July and stayed, One gave up his space and moved downstairs to a curtained section of the rec room. When Mom's needs changed, Pappou followed the boys. It was a real guy's dormitory. So this month has been about shifting everyone back upstairs into real rooms with windows. I'm happy to say that project is almost finished, despite losing a significant amount of time to a flu-like plague that felled everyone in the house.

The beauty of cocooning lies in its singular focus. My need for physical order has distracted me from having to unspool the parcels of grief knotted inside me, small, rough packages lurking beneath the beat of my heart. But the hazard of languishing inside that protective batting is all outside noise, positive and negative, gets muffled and ignored. Nonetheless, I was fairly content to stay tucked away inside my domestic shell until my friend Colette Auclair cracked my chrysalis.

Colette and I met through a writing contest. Last year her novel THROWN was nominated for the RWA Golden Heart, which is a big deal in the romance writing world. She wrote me last week to tell me THROWN is going to be published in December as part of a three book deal with Simon and Schuster! Naturally, I was...well, depressed. I had a real moment of I have no mother, I have no book, I have no future--fuck-it, I'm staying in the cocoon. But a little time passed, some light filtered in through the rift and my perspective changed.

Over the years, we've purchased a few butterfly kits for the boys. The larvae fatten up and climb to the top of the cage where they attach themselves and spin a cocoon to await their metamorphosis. It's a violent process as the shimmering alien shells shake and twist, finally splitting to release the new creature inside. Not every butterfly survives and more than a few are injured, but every single larva heeds the natural directive to inch upward.

The need to publish isn't a biological imperative. But  I've created a story, I'm in the middle of revising it, and I think it's earned the right to finish the trek to the top. I've spent a lot of time fattening up and spinning, debating whether I want to muster the energy to write.

I do.

I think it's time to leave my cocoon.

24 comments:

  1. You know, just based on how you write your blog, your book is going to be fabulous. You just express yourself so incredibly well.

    Cocooning is sometimes a necessary process; you just can't stay in there forever.

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    1. As you know, it's pretty easy to settle in here for the winter. I'd be perfectly happy to wrap up in a fuzzy blanket until spring. But it was good to feel life moving past me, and even better to want to catch up to it.

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  2. Beautiful. Sad. Beautifully sad. I can't wait to read your book.

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    1. Thank you. Now if you could write every few weeks and keep reminding me of that...

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  3. I can't wait to read your book. Only you know if it's time to leave the cocoon and spread those beautifully colored wings. And fly.
    I do know your mom would want that, and she'd watch over you. Just do it for the right reasons though, not because of someone else's dream or success, but because you want your own. And because you know you have the energy now to apply yourself.

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    1. My initial reaction wasn't based on envy, because you and I both know that it's so hard to get published every success needs to be celebrated! I just felt stationary. And while I wouldn't change how I spent my last six months, it had become easier to stay fixed on a caretaking course. I had to decide if I wanted to fulfill my personal dream. You know, why not me? So, one step forward, hopefully not two steps back into bed!

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  4. I, too, am looking forward to reading your book. And remember: your cocoon has a door, so you can go in and out as you need to, maybe just leaving the door cracked so sound isn't muffled. I'm glad to hear you are healing, even if just a bit. Take care!

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    1. I know from my father's death that grief takes as long as it takes. My mother's death has forever altered my life, in both the significant and mundane, but my life and all that's around me continues to move forward. I want to move with it, but with an ironclad option to retreat back to the cocoon when necessary.

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  5. You have a lot more future than you give yourself credit for, but you need to heal first. Don't rush. Be kind to yourself. You deserve it.

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    1. I want that future for OTHER books. I need to be done with this one. I promise to take care of myself. Okay, not really, because my M.O. is to take care of everyone else first, but I'll STRIVE to take care of myself. Fair?

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  6. I adore you.
    (And am so freaking proud of you.)
    That is all.

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    1. And that is all I need.

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    2. what julie said!!!
      you are remarkable, your writing is pitch perfect and I want to buy your book.

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  7. Your post and these comments are all so beautiful. Be kind and gentle with yourself. Feel your mom's love every day. She was so proud of who you are. Love you.

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    1. I do feel her everyday, which is what makes it seem unreal at times. She hasn't been gone that long yet for it to fully sink in that she's not coming back. So being productive is good in that way. Love you, too.

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  8. Sounds like you've been pretty busy in that cocoon of yours, shifting everyone around. Of course, maybe all that shifting was what you needed to shift yourself.
    I am eager to read your book!

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    1. I think you're right! I've had a very productive week, so I think I must have freed up some physical and psychic space.

      Yikes, I hope my book doesn't suck!

      (Apparently, I haven't kicked out the self-doubt in all the moving. Okay, new goal.)

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  9. Hi Megan:
    Just a quick note to say thanks for friending me on Twitter and giving my books a push. You're a doll. I joined Twitter in 2011, wrote about 20 tweets and left. I don't have a clue about what I'm doing there. : )

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    1. You're welcome! I didn't really get twitter either until I decided how I wanted to use it, which apparently is to record my inane ramblings about my days. I still don't understand the hashtag, but I think of it as a title to my tweets. It's fun and it's another way to connect to folks, some of whom I don't personally know and didn't have to strongarm into following me!

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  10. Corina30.1.13

    I too think your book will be great, just from reading this blog! Your writing style is really beautiful!

    Wishing you healing, cocooning for as long as you need, and re-emergence whenever it feels right to YOU.

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    1. Hi Corina! Thanks for the compliments and the good wishes. See you over at Julie's place!

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  11. Beautiful writing.

    And I totally get the cocooning. I definitely believe in just letting our feelings take their course.

    ...Though now I'm thinking about dead and injured butterflies. Shit!

    ;-)

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  12. I'm sorry about the butterfly imagery! Even when they're healthy they don't live that long so they're focused on what's really important. Not a bad lesson, oui?

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