Monday, 6 November 2017


NOVEL ANGST

Much angst over Alias Jeannie Delaney, my epic, five part novel charting the life of a devastating cowgirl who's the fastest gun in the west and also bisexual. Because it's taking so long to get it out - Husband is dutifully and brilliantly critiquing each chapter - I decided to work on an anthology I've been working on for a while. Shorter. Workable. I have current anecdotal articles  and I think I'm happier with it. But - as Husband maintains - it's all connected with my novel writing and my mental health.

So, more angst today, almost dreading coming to the keyboard in case I become really depressed over either. Husband did his cognitive behavioural therapy thing, which invariably works, bless him. If he makes me cry, we've hit the source of the problem!

Over the years, my mother was less than supportive towards me in many ways, which contributed hugely to my thirty years of depression. Don't get me wrong, I loved both my parents dearly, but she had no idea how to raise an ultra sensitive, creative daughter. She was the 'pull yourself together' sort. My older brother described my dad's approach as benign neglect. He was aware of what was happening, but did nothing about it. However, once, when mother told me over the phone that she 'never took my jobs seriously', my dad ripped her off, telling her that she'd gone too far this time! She did ask for my forgiveness.

To get to the point, years of drip-drip negativity and neglect left me with enormous desires to please the parents. That included desire for approval over my writing, particularly in latter years, my novel. I knew they wouldn't like my subject matter - that's purely subjective - but a simple 'Well done for writing a novel.' would have gone down well, but I was always reticent over talking to them about it. Most of my family have no idea what I've been doing, although my older brother has also been writing a novel, but whether or not he discussed it with the parents, I don't know.

My parents have been gone for around two years now, so no reason for the need for their approval now, and that's what my subconscious needs to realise, because I've had nothing but great responses to it from Facebook and other friends. So - brain - yes, I'm talking to you - enough! You're good. You're fine. Buckle down and finish, dammit! Okay? Okay.

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