Finding My Voice

I had a reasonably productive weekend, though not quite as productive as I had planned. I cleaned off my computer's desktop, which was kind of a procrastination maneuver but which still needed to be done, and I finished revising the section I was working on. I'm not sure I like what I've done, and I'll have to go back and probably revise the revision, but there's also the possibility that it seemed flat to me because I was feeling flat at the time and that it's actually perfectly fine.

I got over the hibernation fog and am now in a totally different kind of fog. Today's fog is of the "who turned the gravity up to 11?" variety. There's a front coming through, of the sort that makes my head feel very heavy. I'm afraid to bend over while in my office, for fear of falling straight through the floor and landing in my dining room.

Weird, I just realized that my desk chair seems to be located almost exactly on top of where my usual chair at the dining table is. Now I have the urge to go measure, just to be sure. And then maybe adjust things so they are in the exact same spot.

The above paragraph should serve as an indication of my current brain function. For another sign of the fog, a little while ago, I went to open Firefox. I have my applications folder listed by icons, but somehow instead I opened the documents folder, which is shown by a list of file names, and I still scrolled through the file names, looking for Firefox, until it occurred to me that I was in the wrong folder. I need to walk to the post office today, so I'm hoping that will clear my head. Then again, it's another Mary Poppins kind of day, wind-wise, so it could just make matters worse. On the bright side, I'll have a tailwind for the walk home.

On another note, I've seen that there's a thing going around in various author blogs where they list ways you know that a book is written by them. I've been trying to think of any distinctive quirks or stylistic elements I have that carry through everything I write, and I can't come up with much other than a spunky main character who kind of goes with the flow of whatever's going on in her (or his, sometimes) life, no matter how weird, a "nice guy" leading man, and a bit of a quirky sense of humor that comes through even in more serious stories. I think I do have a distinctive voice, so that you could read a paragraph or two and recognize me as the author, but I'm not sure I could describe what that voice entails. Perhaps that's something I need to think about: What makes a Shanna Swendson book a Shanna Swendson book?

And on that note, off to the post office.