Please Kill Me,
Hello Alcoholics Anonymous class of 2015. Here again with a short, little update. Today I discovered (or otherwise experienced) a new kind of problem. A good one actually. Not my virginity (long lost in the fabric of time and space) however something that may be just as singularly pure and absolute so I’m choosing to cherish it. In the spirit of the cherry poppers I have decided to title this issue of mine the “Golden Problem.”
For those of you merely skimming through my posts (I highly recommend you don’t skim I actually say some legitimate things. Most times. Sometimes, ehh do what you want who cares) or living under some sort of bubble outside my own (perish the thought) you should know that I am writing a novel. Becoming Utopia, a title which is not only befitting, but one that I had decided from the very beginning, and as luck would have it has held true throughout the novel, despite the story taking a left turn, or 7. The last few days of my vacation from my day job, I have been going full force with my writing, being that I finally had the time. To my utter and absolute surprise, I found that the story was “HOLY CRAP 80% DONE!!!!” the first draft anyway. Clocking in at just under three months this for me, is BIG.
Despite my joy, and my knowledge of where I want the story to go (which also lucky enough for me is in agreement with where it wants to go) I find my self at this weird impasse. I can sit down to write and write it without a problem, I find that a little chunk of my soul doesn’t want to end it. I have so immensely enjoyed writing this book (as I hope you will enjoy reading it) that I just don’t want to let it go. It is, as I can only imagine, like sending your child off to college. Yea we want them out the house to traverse the world on their own, but there is a piece that just wants them to stay home a little longer. I guess this may be my own problem, but something tells me that for the writers (and other artists) doing the same solely for the love of it, this may be a problem that is unexpectedly commonplace.
I mean of course I want to finish my book, and watch it go to it’s metaphorical college and what not. But it’s still my baby. I don’t want it to get beat up, or worse yet become one of the popular kids, that feels it’s too good to visit ol’ dad once in a while. I don’t know. maybe I’m being a diva here, but give me credit, at least I acknowledge this as the better of many of the problems I could potentially be having ” DAMN YOU WRITER”S BLOCK”. This is not that, it’s the antithesis of that. I guess what I’m trying to say is that my advice to anyone in the same weird, proud, monumentally positive predicament, is that you’ve got to let go of it sometime. Besides, as creators, don’t we have other kids to take care of, why worry about the one that’s already made it to adulthood?
In My Mind As Always,