On Friday I gave my manuscript to an editor I’d met recently who didn’t know me or my story. I delivered it to her and then had to tear myself away. It was like leaving my precious newborn child off at a strange babysitter’s place for an undetermined amount of time. During the ride home, I fretted about the 200-page bundle I’d hugged and held and written my heart inside-out in.
On Saturday, to keep my mind off the manuscript, I photoshopped. I sifted through all my files and folders and flagged a few photos that called to me. Like the ones of water and rocks. And always, Marika. I found some old pictures of her and then cobbed all the images together in Photoshop. This captured and calmed some of my inner turmoil. It all seems to be about holding on and letting go.
“Oh no!” I’d cried out in the middle of the photo lab one especially challenging day. “I lost it. She’s gone.”
“You can’t lose anything when you photoshop,” said Harry, who teaches the class. “It’s all right there. It’s just hidden in another layer.” And in another click or two my dear constructed vision was restored before my eyes.
I dabbed and pecked at my composition a while longer. When the images were all satisfactorily glommed onto a page and printed out, I could hold it in my hand. Or put it away in a box somewhere. So then I had ice cream and gave the dog a long bellyrub.