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.