Tuesday, May 8, 2012

After You Pass Page Eight Hundred...

You are on your own. Maybe you have something or maybe you have nothing. The book has gotten so big that there are parts you are not sure how they relate to the whole and still it doesn't end. You just keep going with the thought that the book must end somewhere and then what will that end look like? After all these pages will the end justify the commitment. Or will it just dribble out like a fire finally burning down to some coals and then smoting into night.

You don't know.  And in a sense you don't care. You just want to finish that first draft that is plowing along like the Titanic and creating such a wake that everything else is put on hold. After I finish the book. After I finish the book. Then I will deal with the world but of course the world has a nasty habit of pushing into your world anyway. Kids and dogs and schools will do that. So you carve off part of you to get the work done and each day you wonder if there is any gas left in the tank.

Because you have certainly burned through all sorts of reserves to the point you barely have anything left over for blogging or essays or anything. But your secret pride is that you tried it in the first place. That you took a shot and if it is just your great silent catastrophe...that is alright too.


Books by William Hazelgrove