Thursday, February 15, 2007

False Start

Thank you to everyone who wished me good luck and who were happy for me that I’d made a decision and started something new.

After that first chapter I realized that the form I’d set was leading me to write about myself (fictionally) and my family.  I can’t write about myself.  Just can’t do it.  Not unless I’m totally disguised.  I wasn’t disguised at all.  I might find another way to do this, but for now it’s going in the recycle bin.  At least Chapter 2 is.

Am I depressed?  Not exactly.  I’m worried.  Time is passing and I’m not sure how much time I have left.  Yes, I know, nobody is.  But I’ve reached a certain age where time is very important.  I’m so much closer to the end than the beginning.  Or even the middle. I feel pressured.  I’m pressuring myself, of course.  No one else is knocking down my door, or phoning me. It’s as if I’ve just begun on this journey and have no connections. 

And for me the ideas don’t come fast and furious as they once did.

Back to reading and thinking.

My advice? Carpe diem!


The Scribe said...

I am a Gemini -- short attention span, so I skipped around and read your posts out of order. Now, I see the outcome of the pages you wrote the other day.

P. Abbott said...

Then there's the woman in Detroit who never had the nerve to try until after age fifty. Thirty pages into a novel and she's writing flash fiction for Bryone Quertermous instead of pushing onward. So distracted by the call of a short story.
I know you will find your way out of this. In the meantime, be kind to yourself. You've earned a minute to stop and think.