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Sunday, September 9, 2012

I don't care I don't care I care so much it hurts

I'm sure that for those of you who follow this blog, that when you see three, four, five days elapse and there is no new post you must get really sad because you know that I have likely slipped into whatever time warp crazy zone I go into that leads to three months without an update.

I'm sure that's how you all feel.

But let me assure you that these lapses of postage will be ceasing for good in the next few weeks* and that I will almost assuredly become a regular blog poster. Don't you worry about that, my friends.

One thing you should worry about, though, is that I still have not received any word about my manuscript submission. I have passed from the despair phase into the pure, agonizing depths of ennui. I just don't think about it all that often. It's something that is happening, happened.

Sometimes, though, I'll be driving or listening to something or eating a ham sandwich and I'll stop and think that I finished this book seven months ago and almost no one has read it and those who have it have not read it or commented on it and I'll muse on the black holes these little e-submissions have disappeared into and I'll feel an overwhelming sense of...well...sadness, I guess. It's actually very similar to the feeling I get when I watch my son trailing after an 8-yr old kid who wants absolutely nothing to do with him, with this little 3-yr old kid who can't do the cool things he can do but for some reason just keeps following after him. It's sad to see someone try so hard to do something when everyone can see so clearly it just isn't gonna happen. No matter what people say about doing the impossible and moving mountains and making miracles happen, there are some things that just ain't ever gonna happen. My son is 3 and he doesn't know that. He doesn't know he can't make that 8-yr old pay attention to him, or that it's gonna be several more years before he can climb those monkey bars or run that fast or throw a ball that far.

The thing is, his not knowing is exactly the thing that keeps him trying, that keeps him practicing and working hard, and that practice is why he will someday be able to do all of those things.

But then, when that day comes, he'll just want to ride a bigger bike, or climb a higher tree, or run a faster race. He'll be 8-yrs old himself then and he won't remember what he wanted when he was 3. He'll forget. All he'll know is what he wants now, and how much further he has to go.



*Most likely.

1 comments:

patrick said...

Tres - read War of Art by Steven Pressfield, if you have not already.