I think about this book all the time, in the same fevered way I used to think about lovers. Is it real art, or is it limerence? Will it love me back? Do I choose the right words to make it sing? Is my tone too serious, too light? Do I ask too much, or too little? What if I fall completely, deeply in love with this book and it all falls apart at the end? What if I give everything I have, and it isn’t enough? How can I sleep at night, not knowing how it all turns out?
And then I say, Ah, fuck it. It is what it is. I got along without it before I started it, gonna get along without it now. Uh huh.
But I think of not writing, not knowing how it ends and it feels like falling, so I go crawling back. Please baby please, can’t we make this thing work? I swear, I’ll outline each scene on an index card, I’ll pin you to the wall until I find just the right way to tell your story.
If you just promise not to leave me.
The Muses inspire artisans to find their own voice. And while any honest person acknowledges most things have already been done before, there’s a certain dishonesty to intentional mimickry, or at the very least, an open admission of valuing trends over originality.
LOL:
http://www.dependablerenegade.com/dependable_renegade/2011/05/what-on-earth-do-you-mean-.html
Write the book with the same passion and humor that you wrote that post and you (and it) will be great.
That picture is great. I love DR’s work!
Zackly. The mortification of not being the original. Pretty much sums up the human condition. More or less.
What’s more, the labyrinthine legalese required to create the facade of originality, now shunted to only those who can afford it. As in, creators of jobs, owners of intellectual property, etc. etc.
Can you tell us a little more about your book, Susie?
It’s set in Philadelphia and that’s all I’m saying.