Tamara L. Siuda, unplugged
I’ve not posted here in an age, although thanks to the extraordinary time bend which has been the Years of Our Pandemic it simultaneously feels like yesterday when I was angsting about my manuscript. I did not make that deadline, in fact, nor did I make the one afterward. 100 Gods of Egypt finally made it to the editors in October, not June. It is even now still in edits, though now it’s in edits. We have 20 pages of bullet point lists of things to add, subtract, change, and make better. We have lists of illustrations that are being pared so we can hire someone to draw them. Color photographs are being chosen. Maps are being plotted. The book is getting done, slowly but surely.
This afternoon I recorded a podcast interview for a university professor who’s teaching a religion course, and I got to talk at length about Hathor and Sekhmet. We got so into what we were talking about that 2.5 hours flew by without even noticing. Time continues to bend: ever so short for the enjoyable things, stuck or stopped or even seeming to be sliding backwards in the not so enjoyable ones. I’ve been doing medical tests, yet again, since February to try to track down what’s going on now. It isn’t cancer this time, for which I’m grateful, but workable answers with a plan to solve them elude for now. Hopeful that bit of time bending might bend a little less a little sooner.
So much is happening and yet it feels like nothing is moving, or that I am suspended in a glass box moving at a different rate than everything outside it - and both rates of movement keep changing. Doing my best to continue to move, as that seems prudent, but also to find a way to synchronize movements. Existential motion sickness is not much fun.