WALK INTO A BOOKSHOP AND YOU WILL SEE BOOKS THAT YOU LOVE AND BOOKS THAT YOU HATE, BOOKS THAT WERE WRITTEN THREE WEEKS AGO AND BOOKS THAT TOOK THIRTY YEARS...BOOKS THAT WERE WRITTEN IN SPLENDID ISOLATION, BOOKS THAT WERE WRITTEN IN STARBUCKS. SOME OF THEM WERE WRITTEN WITH ENORMOUS ENJOYMENT, SOME FOR MONEY, SOME IN FEAR AND LOATHING AND DESPAIR.
THE ONLY THING THEY HAVE IN COMMON IS THAT
THEIR AUTHORS FINISHED THEM,
SOONER OR LATER.
My current WiP is a tease. It runs away from me when I try to pin it down. It whispers and giggles as it darts and ducks around corners. It hides in the crawl space over the garage. It hunkers down with the tortoises, growing a hard and impenetrable shell of its own. It slams doors and yells that it hates me. I am convinced it will be the death of me. Or at least the death of the little sanity I still possess.
And yet, I don't give up. I chase it. I play with it. I pet and soothe and feed it chocolate and cheese. Both my WiP and I know it wants to be caught. It wants to grow and improve and excite and entertain. It wants to be finished. It needs to be finished. And I am the only one who can do that. And I will.
This week, let's get closer to finishing something, anything. Let's not give up.