Time, Relativity, and Other Things That Hurt My Head

I have issues with Time. Like, the science of Time. Or the math. I don’t even know which it is, exactly, but I know I have issues with it. Like it’s this concept that’s just out of my reach, or a lot out of my reach, and it bothers me. It bothers me disproportionately. To the point where I can’t watch anything that has any sort of time travel without getting all bent out of shape. And then I go off on these “That doesn’t make any sense!” tangents, kind of like when someone brings up jeggings.

Same reaction.

So. I was cleaning.

(I shall pause here for dramatic effect.)

Not that I was cleaning cleaning. More like I was de-cluttering. Specifically, I was de-cluttering two things: the dresser drawer where I keep edited drafts and the closet where I keep baby stuff.

Because Kid #2 turned 3 today. Meaning he’s not a baby, and I don’t need a front carrier or a back carrier or a sling carrier or any other type of carrier I’d been suckered into purchasing.

And because FRACTURE is pretty much done – it’s been edited and revised and copyedited – and I’m just about finished with the first draft of my next book, so I need the space.

So here’s where time and relativity come in to play: I feel like Kid #2 turned 1, like, half a breath ago. Which, coincidentally, is right around the time I started FRACTURE. But it feels like I’ve been working on this story for half my life.

Same time.

So, because I have this compulsion to find order, I tried to line it all up. I matched the drafts I had written to different stages in Kid #2’s life.

Like that first draft was when he was terrified of stepping in grass and I had to carry him in one of those ridiculous carriers even though he exceeded the weight limit by, like, an entire baby.

And that first major rewrite was when he gave up naps. Horrifying.

And that second major rewrite was when we took him on his first long car ride and vowed never to do it again. (We lied.)

It didn’t feel linear at all. It felt like there were gaps and jumps and stretches. My brain hurt.

It still hurts. Because I don’t understand time. I don’t understand how my son can have another birthday when I’m pretty sure I’ve been staring at the same page for the entire year.

Is that the Theory of Relativity? Probably not. I think the Theory of Relativity is more complex than that. I should probably look it up. But in the meantime I’ve come up with my own theory:

I can actually measure the time it takes to create a book like this: