I was at the gym during my lunch break, and per usual I was mentally running through my schedule for the rest of the day: work til 5, home by 5:30, walking the dog and having dinner done by 7, then writing work from 7 until bed.
Then the thought crossed my mind. The thought.
“Why bother?” It begins. “You could just play video games. No one would care. No one would fault you. Hell, if you just never started this third book no one would notice.”
Then my mind continued on this track even as I tried to focus on my actual exercises. “What would happen if you just stopped writing? You’d be able to relax. You know who would care if you stopped? No one. You’re the only one. Maybe your closest friends would ask about it, eventually. Here’s how much they’d care:
“Hey, haven’t heard about you writing much lately.”
“Yeah, kind of been too busy for it.”
“Oh that’s too bad, you were going super hard there for a while.”
“Yeah, just got really busy.”
The voice then reminds me, insidiously, that this is as much as anyone would miss my writing, and even then a mere handful of people. Why not just stop, be like the rest of them and enjoy your evening hours? Who cares about this story except for you?
Answer: No one- yet.
Should they? Could they? Would they? I don’t know, that all depends on whether I put in the work to give them a story to consider. It all depends on the argument my story makes for being worth their time.
I thought about it through that workout and on my tired trudge back to my office where I scribbled the notes to myself that turned into this post. I believed that Beneath the Wood was a worthwhile story to be told, and worked it for a year until I was sure that it is as a finished product. I believed that Five Talents was a worthwhile story to be told, and worked it for a year until I was sure that it is as a finished product.
Now, I’ve battled inwardly with it, and I believe that Unicorns & Satellites could be a worthwhile story. I’m going to get to work justifying that statement starting tonight.
We move forward.