Has it really been two weeks since my last post?
How embarrassing. When the writing’s not going well, I don’t tend to post–namely because I’ll end up whining. But after 2 weeks of pain, torture and staring at pages, unable to figure out what’s gone wrong, I’m moving along. Slowly, but steadily.
I realized what the problem is, still trying to figure out how to fix it, and in the meantime, learning and relearning all sorts of things about myself, and coming to some difficult decisions.
I’ve decided to put aside my fantasy novel. I love the story, the premise, and the message (for lack of a better word). But right now, I can’t do this story any justice. And this makes me feel panicky.
I hate starting something and not finishing it; hate that I give my word (to the agent. I told her I would sub the story) and not following through. We all have certain ways we define ourselves, but Zen philosophy (or maybe it’s the Tao) says that we’re to be like water: constantly moving, shifting according to the situation, and overcoming obstacles not through force, but persistence.
In that sense, then, I shouldn’t feel guilty about putting my book aside. I have to honor the situation, which is that it’s just not working. And the truth is, if I subbed now, my story would be rejected and it deserves better than that–so does the agent, who shouldn’t have to waste her time with a sub-par submission.
So, I suppose then, it’s my ego that’s railing against the situation. Perhaps it’s miffed that its definition of itself is being blasted out of the water.
I’m not sure. I wish I knew if putting the book down was courageous or quitting, but I don’t. All I know, is that it’s not working, and I have to be still and let the answers come.
