Back From the Back of Beyond

I've just returned from an extended trip to visit the family. I took along a draft of the first five chapters to review and rework, but needless to say, in all the confusion of what turned out to be a most terrible series of events (including many hospital visits) I barely opened the plastic cover I'd lovingly created before I left. Usually I like to take these obstacles and adventures as opportunities for creative exploration, but today after assessing my emotional fatigue I can barely stare at this screen without falling asleep or breaking down into senseless tears. I'm just tired. After a week's vacay from the writing wagon, I've been itching to jump back in, but the brain is not cooperating. I feel unsettled and unsteady and these are never good places for me to work from; my thoughts are too scattered and shifting.

I did start reading Tender is the Night in between trips to the hospital. I've always loved Fitzgerald's turn of phrase and so far I'm even more in love now than I ever was with Damned or Gatsby. I'm still not sure why his characters are so young, though perhaps this has something to do with the autobiography of it all. For me, it's hard to imagine such young people being so complex. I mean, can you name a 19 year old today who would have the self-possession and awareness of Rosemary or the distant disturbance of Nicole (only 24). I myself am breathing down the neck of 30 and even with years of travel and exposure to "the rest of the world," I don't think I am half as comfortable with myself as these people, half of whom are mentally ill. Maybe that's just me. J.A.