Project Galileo Update I

2020 has been a horror, but all horror stories have endings.

This is what I keep telling myself every day as I grapple with a manuscript, other work that actually pays the bills, and relationships that can be both uplifting and momentum-breaking. The biggest challenge has been a severe bout of burnout and depression that lingered like a poison for several weeks; I eventually accepted that I was doing too much for everyone else and not nearly enough for myself, and putting my life at risk was simply out of the question. It makes no sense to focus on helping others with your abilities if you aren’t in a good place personally, but I didn’t want to make a fuss and instead focused on the tasks at hand, whether personal or work-related. Once I had tackled all the odds and ends, I knew it was time to stop and wash this exhaustion away.

So, I got out of town. Not nearly for long enough but hey, baby steps. It was time to breathe, reflect, and remember what it was like to feel in touch with my own self. As much as I adore working from home – and believe that doing so permanently is healthier and more beneficial in every way for me – the circumstances presented make it anything but an accurate representation of such a switch. We’re trying to work during a crisis right now, so nobody should expect that working remotely in “normal” conditions is the same thing. Speaking from experience, it’s actually a hell of a lot easier and more enjoyable.

In addition, travel within even Ontario had previously been out of the question but, thanks to a steady decline in COVID-19 cases and some meticulous planning for a stay with disinfection service between every guest, I found a solution. This is why there has been a delay in posting an update.

The book is what is saving me, however, and on that front I have good news: Project Galileo is making excellent progress. The experience of working seriously on a novel while balancing everything else life throws down before me has taught a critical lesson: in order to deliver my best work, I need to feel my best. Sort of stupid to not realize this, in hindsight.

Despite everything that’s happened in recent months, I’m proud that the first draft remains on track for completion in the fall. We’ll worry about the fun of hiring an editor and agent hunting later; the part that matters most is that the book isn’t crap.

Screaming Wind, Strange Fruit

I’m sure most of you can relate to the initial period of catering to family and friends whenever visiting close to old haunts; personally, I find that this often acts as a form of interference even if I try to resist these feelings and be considerate, especially in such a case as when working on a project. After preoccupying myself with arranging distancing visits responsibly and whatnot during the first half of this planned retreat, I decided that enough time had been spent on it. After all, there I was, worrying about everyone else first and distracting myself yet again.

The most ironic thing about this brief getaway was that, by the end of it, I didn’t get any writing done but am happy about it. Instead, over those few remaining days, I decided to invest time into reflection, picking strawberries with my husband and beagle, feeling the familiar breeze from Lake Ontario, and breathing.

As much as I love my loved ones, taking charge of things brought about experiences that just did more for me: The screaming wind on the highway; the metronome-like timing of telephone poles whipping past the car window; the sensation of stepping into an abandoned sandbox – one having once played in as a child with friends who have long since vanished, despite attempts to save something meaningful from the past. There are stories everywhere here, serving as both a most welcome haunting and a reminder of who I am. In this respect, the setting of Port Hope in Project Galileo takes on its own voice and personality. It's a character I know perhaps too well.

Some Semblance of Silence

Getting away, freeing myself of any to-dos and having some semblance of silence resonates deeply with me. Plot ideas and narrative improvements flourished in my head the longer I stayed, filling the deep crevices and perhaps a few empty spaces previously occupied by everything else. These ideas still linger in my mind now that I’m back and self-isolating, the poison drained, so they must be at least not-half-bad.

Perhaps the ages-old adage of “you have to write to be a writer” shouldn’t always be treated as scripture. If you hear “just write” or “it’s an easy job and you’re lucky” from anyone, then they don’t get it and/or don’t have time to. That’s okay, and respecting the craft is to respect yourself as the craftsman, which means not waiting on someone else to willingly crawl into your head and understand you. Just keep making progress in your own way, filtering out the noise and opinions to deliver something special from the heart. I’m sure Margaret, Neil, Dan, Clive, John, Stephen, and the rest can attest to that. It’s not to say that constructive feedback and input aren’t healthy – quite the opposite, really – but rather that it isn’t ideal to surround yourself with so many voices all the time. We all need to trust in ourselves, know that we have what it takes without having to lean on anyone, and be proud of the work we produce while also feeling valued. That latter bit is particularly critical and rare. At this point in time, I feel like I just might understand why many of the greats tend to have mental health struggles and battles with depression. One has to force the silence and create breathing room in order to ruminate and rectify.

Moving Forward

I was out of sync with what really mattered but there are plenty of other people going through their own personal hell. I can’t imagine what it’s like for these poor folks who are stuck in single-windowed apartments with no employment, and my heart goes out to them.

In that sense, yeah, I’m a little lucky (and grateful), but it severely pisses me off when people use this as a “checkmate” of sorts in a conversation, as I’ve made everything happen on my own in most cases. I own what I do. To call a writer “lucky” is to disrespect their abilities and work ethic, and I’ve heard it often enough where it’s feeling more like an attempt to justify someone else’s point of view. If I left everything to chance, I would not be alive right now, and the same goes for many of my peers. We don’t have a magic wordsmith’s wand; it takes years of dedication and constant practice to get even halfway decent, and I’m eager to keep refining things. So, that’s where the luck stops; making great results happen is only possible when we sit down, put the world and its opinions on mute, and focus. Maybe my perspective on this will change as I get to know more fellow writers and genuinely great folks in life, but time will tell.

I'm glad for a work environment and social circle that respects me in this way for the most part, but the care and support of my husband, combined with Project Galileo being half-written, is what has really kept me going. There’s so much more to this story to tell, and all I need to do is enable myself to think clearly to make it happen. The textures, scents, vivid tree-lined streets and majestic valley surroundings of home serve as a collective muse for this book, fueling the narrative into what I can only hope is something powerful, deeply visceral and raw. It’s going to make some folks uncomfortable and that kind of makes me excited, but I’m confident that it will resonate with the majority of readers. Once it leaves my hands, it’s not mine – that’s the genesis of the novel in the first place. If there’s one thing I yearn to contribute, it’s a reminder to those struggling that they aren’t alone and don’t have to be “understood” to make the change they seek, whether in the world or themselves.

Think About How You’re Feeling

All in all, I suppose the key takeaway is this: It doesn’t matter if you can’t please everyone or don’t want to waste time talking to brick walls; the real danger is not being good to yourself. Like Stevie Nicks says, time waits for no one. Your efforts aren’t half as effective or rewarding if you aren’t looking after your mental, spiritual and physical self along the way. Enjoy that journey and savour it.

On that note, a particularly poignant track of Stevie’s is “Doing the Best That I Can” from her most tragically overlooked album, The Other Side of the Mirror. The lyrics of this song have helped me power through things and maintain a strict focus over the years, particularly in recent months. Let me close with the lines that have inspired me the most in hopes that they resonate with you as well:

I didn’t win or lose; I just threw the cards, but I paid a price for it.

Silent all day, it’s out of my hands here.

In my distress, I wanted someone to blame me.

In my devastation, I wanted so to change.

In my way, disaster was the only thing I could depend on.

Maybe next time I’ll think about how I’m feeling, because I’m doing the best that I can.