Magnolia Fay Writes

A post written in July, when the book was still nowhere near ready

I found this, and it seems surreal. Only two months ago, I still didn’t know when I was going to release my debut novella. That hypothetical date felt far in the future. Things have changed, mainly because I realised I needed to set myself a deadline, or the book would never happen. Now, it’s happening, and I feel a little softness for two-months-ago me who was still unaware. We did it, my friend. We did. The book is coming out.

And yet, here I am, publishing this post with no changes. It was a snapshot of a phase in my journey to coming into my own as a self-published author, and I think it’s worth sharing.

Enjoy!

This week, I have been taken to staying indoors most of the day, only leaving the house after eight or nine in the evening to scavenge for groceries. Apples, crisps, crackers, chocolate of some shape or form are my most common findings. Being just me and the cat for a few days, I could follow my own rhythms. Which meant a lot of procrastination, first of all. A lot of snacking in search for that glimpse of inspiration. A lot of good intentions, followed by not-so-great practices.

The thing is, I am in the middle of editing. In fact, I am working on, not a first, not a second, a third draft. A third draft that I’ve already edited once for small stuff and am now in the process of making structural changes to (I know, it’s counterintuitive, but trust me, I have a system… I think). All of this for someone like me who struggles with momentum and motivation on a piece of writing… and you understand why I need my apples (or you don’t because most people don’t use apples as a dopamine snack, I guess).

The good news is that I’m still going. I’m still editing. Despite the struggle, the procrastination, the over-snacking, I am going at more or less the pace I hoped for this week. I am probably uttering less than twenty words a day to living humans, which to an extent, I needed. Not because I’m an introvert, but rather, for the opposite reason.

Between social life and solitary work, I tend to pick social life. It feels more fleeting, more volatile. My work will always be there waiting for me, for better or for worse. People might move away, or, less drastically, not feel up for meeting another time when I’m free?

With this frame of mind as a standard, choosing work is an exercise both in trusting my human connections in real life and in putting writing at the top of my priority list. Even when it’s something nobody is holding me accountable for.

Yes, community is crucial for me personally as a writer, and I believe for many of us. Yes, I have an amazing community of fellow authors cheering me on. Yes, my editor is waiting for this new draft of the story. Yet, I am now sitting alone at my table tapping on the keys. Nobody else is accountable for the time I spend on this work. Nobody else can make these changes for me.

Yes, I know, mind blowing. What is truly surprising me in this editing journey, is that I can actually trust myself to care enough. Which, again, should not be surprising. I chose this path, this life as an author. I even left a literal job for it. And yet, every time I get to the end of a chapter, I have to take a moment to believe it. Because it was not easy or obvious, getting here.

The reasons it was not easy or obvious are the same reasons why, three months after quitting my job to pursue writing full time once and for all, I still haven’t published a book. Life happens. Surgeries, family events, changes. Life seems to have an instinct for happening right when all you’d like is peace and focus. It is all a learning experience, though, and boy, am I learning.

Mainly, I am learning that since I chose this path, this path is my priority. I have been in the way of this choice for years, and now that I am not in the way anymore, I need to protect it from life getting in the way. Before this week, I had a couple that were socially intense, and left me restless, with a sense of having missed something important. Now I know it was because I struggled to make time for my writing. My work. I have felt a lot more serene this week. It seems like my fomo is switching sides.

It will not be easy to achieve a balance between life (big and small) and writing, especially with the way my brain operates. However, I need to trust myself that it will come. With time and care.

In the meantime, I get to feel like the neighbourhood oddball artist, coming out of her house only once a day to buy supplies, then disappearing once again. Being London, nobody minds too much what you do, and I kind of enjoy the kinship of grocery shopping near closing time. Even if my apples and oreos are not very befitting of the aesthetic of a decadent artist.

(Ignore the oreos.)

Next time, I hope to write from this space with the actual date of an upcoming release. Meanwhile, for those generous enough with their time to have read until the end, here’s what I’m working on:

Luis Grenada wasn’t meant to freeze in space. His first cruise as officer on elite space liner Balthasar was meant to be a chance to prove himself and be with his tech boyfriend Henry.

Then, twin ship Sylvester falls off-course and radio silent after a magnetic storm, and Luis volunteers.

Beamed across space to a slowly dying vessel, Grenada is faced with two impossible tasks. One, work with the thinning, slowly succombing to Void Madness Sylvester’s crew. Two, communicate with Henry to kick off a rescue operation before it’s too late.

Are they all doomed to a cold silent drifting end?

Until next time, happy readings!

Magnolia Fay