You Only Live Once. Or Is That Twice?
It's been a while since I felt this way. To be precise, it's been 393 days since I felt this way.
February 25, 2005—the day I last wrote something worth reading. Almost hard to believe my mediocrity lasted that long. Sure, in the last year, I’ve probably written some passable pieces. Stories that read right, but to me, don’t feel right. I couldn’t figure out what was getting in the way. I tried to work it out, but there were no answers to my questions.
Then came today, really, my last chance of the semester to write something good, maybe even great. I’m not sure if I hit great, but what I’ve written is good for me, because the story fell into place. The quotations found themselves in the right paragraphs. And the ending made sense.
My story hasn’t been edited, and so, it still might be considered amateurish crap, but I know better. I was ready to concede this year, write it off, and say, like a certain Toronto hockey team, better luck next year. I was ready for someone to bag me, tag me and toss me into the morgue. But just when I felt hopeless, roughing my hair, wondering if I could actually write again, I tried once more. And then, a breakthrough.
Sure, on the surface, I might sound overdramatic, but I write to an audience of writers and I know each one of you has had the same feeling.
I’m not sure when the story will be published, and with this post, I’ve probably over-hyped it, but when you write something that puts back the swagger in your step, the grin on your face, and the cool breeze ‘round you, it needs to be shared.
A link is coming.
And thank you for reading. I don’t say that enough.