I have been in Barcelona for the past week but tonight is my last night. I had lofty plans for this trip, aside from seeing all of the things and eating all of the things, which I have done.
About a week before this trip, I finished the second draft and major overhaul of the final book in my Doomsday Trilogy. It was a long time coming and I am happy with how it turned out. (We’ll see what my Word Wrenches here at Mint in Box Press think abut it; I fully expect to have a bleeding manuscript handed back to me.) Given two 12-hour flights and a little downtime, lubricated by Spanish wine and cava (it’s better than champagne and I will fight you on this), vermouth and refreshing mugs of Estrella, and fueled by copious bowls of patatas bravas, I planned to start my next novel.
I have a main plot and a few side plots. I have a first chapter that I love and I’ve done so, so much research.
Here comes the spoiler alert: this is the first writing I’ve done on this trip.
And I’m okay with it.
Writers are good at should-ing all over themselves: you feel like no matter what you’re doing, you should be writing. You should have a journal with you at all times to jot down ideas. You should carry your laptop or have a dedicated notes section on your phone, into which you are furiously typing during any downtime. Especially independent authors, who are jockeying for position among the thousands of authors clamoring for a foothold in this very competitive market.
I could have been that person. The person who, in their minimal vacation downtime stares at a screen in a world of their own instead of conversing with friends and making memories. After the red-eye flight where I read and slept instead of writing, and the first exhausting day of touring the city passed and I wrote nothing, I realized that I didn’t need to write to live my life, at least not while life needed to be lived.
I have seen the most amazing places on this trip. I got to check the Sagrada Familia off my bucket list. The Hospital Sant Pau (pictured above) is a masterpiece of art nouveau opulence and was a working hospital until 2009! I went to the Museu de l’Art Prohibit and saw their exhibits of censored art and you should definitely go there. Just do it. It’s incredible. I spent the morning in Girona, viewing the Girona Cathedral (of Game of Thrones fame), sipping espresso and listening to a white-bearded violinist wearing what looked like scrub pants play music on the cathedral steps.
Let me get to the point
As writers, we have the constant fire of creation burning within us. We live entire lives inside our heads that are not our own. We invent worlds and the characters that populate them. We map out conversations in our heads before we have them (though that may just be my anxiety talking).
What I’m saying is, we forget to live in reality. A lot of the time, reality sucks (or bites, if you’re a late Gen X-er like me). But sometimes, when the planets align and the wine is flowing and the company is good and the music is playing and the energy of the crowd is thrumming . . . Sometimes, reality is wonderful.
Don’t forget to stop and dip your toes in it from time to time.
Now, I’m going to indulge in some Iberian ham and Manchego, pour a glass of cava and enjoy the evening light, the company, and the noise of the crowd beneath my balcony on Avinguda Gaudi. Salud!
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