At least, I’m trying to write.
I may need a support group to provide me with unconditional positive reinforcement on demand, or some sort of ultimatum or force beyond the feebleness of my own will, but for now, ass in chair, I’m writing.
I wouldn’t say no to an intervention, though. And wine. To help with the motivation.
I booked my editor for my “Naked, at the End of the World” novel way back in March… my reasoning was that if I booked my editor for June, I’d get it the fuck done.
I work best under pressure.
Except this time.
This time, nuthin’.
The date when I was supposed to send my manuscript to her (lovely woman, patient, understanding woman) came and went… last Saturday… and I hid. I was going to email her with a sob story of literary despair, but I decided that I would just pretend it didn’t exist, this interminable novel of epic suckage, and she would forget about me.
It’s not like it’s her livelihood, after all.
Ok, so it is her livelihood, but I thought she’d take the hint when No Words arrived from Libby. I thought she’d sigh with gentle sympathy and chuckle and say: “Oh that Libby. No Words. It’s perfectly OK.”
Instead, she emailed me and asked where my manuscript was.
She reminded me that it was her livelihood, after all.
She suggested that I respond, indicating my intentions.
And I was bereft. My novel sucks. A doodle doo.
Suck-a-doodle-doo, that is.
(Thank God it’s not my livelihood!)
Until… I re-read my wanton manuscript.
And I chuckled a little.
And I thought, “My, my, what good use of the word ‘apocryphal’. Aren’t I clever?”
And I pondered the scene with the peacock feather tattoo, and the scene with the cat, and my painful and gratuitous overuse of the word ‘fuck’.
And I asked the Magic 8 ball if I should carry on…
I bought a Magic 8 ball because the Magic 8 is a pivotal prop in my story, and it seemed ill-fated… irrational, even… to not use its wisdom to guide my Novelacious Novelling…
Me: “Magic 8 Ball, should I continue with my novel?”
Magic 8: “Cannot predict now.”
Me: “Magic 8 Ball, should I keep writing?”
Magic 8: “Reply hazy. Try again.”
*shake, shake, shake*
Me: “Magic 8 Ball, should I finish my novel?”
Magic 8: “My reply is no.”
*SHAKE, SHAKE, SHAKE, SHAKE*
Then I asked the pompous and oratorically pugnacious Magic 8:
Me: “Can YOU use the word ‘apocryphal’ in a sentence? Eh? Can ya?”
Magic 8: “Very doubtful.”
And with that, I won.
Winning this debate with the Magic 8 Ball has provided me with the inner fortitude I need to continue writing.
Take that, Magic 8.
So, I feel energized. Empowered, even.
I’m writing again… Naked, at the End of the World… novel #4…
And it feels good.
Me: “Magic 8, is this novel going to be a success?”
Magic 8: “Better not tell you now.”
Oh. Oh, I see.
Saving the good news for later… that’s how I choose to read it, anyway…