Damn it. I’m just not cynical enough, I know it. I should be more ironic too. And slick. Yes, I should be hipper, slicker. Not sure, but I think so. And I’m not really funny. Endearing, yeah, sometimes, and probably amusing too, for a second maybe, but not laugh-out-loud funny. And I haven’t introduced my readers to any quirky, ornery curmudgeons from my rural neighborhood, no insane girlfriends have moved in and talked me into starting a cupcake business for the racing market of Saratoga, I haven’t confessed any radical sexcapades from my years as a rock goddess on the road, I don’t have an exotic pet that I carry around with me (although I did once have a parrot whom I carried to the market in a poodle bag until he chewed up all the woodwork in my kitchen and ended up back with the breeder) and I’m not recovering from an addiction. Well, kind of. I do still kinda want a cigarette every now and then. But naw. No one cares. That’s not a real jones. So. What do I got?
Well, I got a goose named Maximus who tries to hump me when I let him share the kiddie pool with me. He gets pretty excited sometimes, and I have to grab him by the neck and talk him down. So, well, there’s that. It’s funny I guess, but I haven’t been clever enough to weave it into a narrative yet. So it’s a missed opportunity, I suppose. I begin to wonder, are there any opportunities here at all? I mean, real gems, keepers? Is there any one thing in my entire blog worthy of an editorial staff – or more accurately an unpaid intern – anything that shows promise in its infant form? Perhaps I’m too dark; perhaps the gems are simply strewn everywhere and I’m tromping on them, unaware of the beautiful works they may yet come to be…
Here, in the mass of posts I’ve made over the past year and a half – here, amongst the some two hundred and forty thousand or so words I’ve assembled – at the very least, I must have created something useable. Something printable. Something worth a professional binding. Maybe? Oh fuck it. I don’t even know where or how to begin. It’s a self-help, educate-yourself-through-YouTube world and I still don’t know how to do it… Get an agent, I gotta get an agent. I know this. I’ve heard this. But seriously, what, am I high? It’s a flippin huge world with big expectations and lots of rules. Just getting a friggin agent seems as unattainable as my getting into my beloved 1963 Avanti with the Studebaker engine and driving off. Seriously, even if I might have the gumption, I have no fucking clue how to start. Really.
In isolated moments of inspiration and hope I think ‘it can’t be that hard…‘ Then… Fuck it! I’m not gonna get into this mess. Yeah, just fuck it all. What a stupid idea. I’m not a writer. I have no street cred, no history or experience. Geez. I can’t do this. Really. I’m being naive here. Shit, I don’t know. Maybe I don’t know. Maybe I can do this… I gotta calm down here. This is no good. I’ve lost perspective. I go upstairs, distract myself with a snack, some mindless tv. Gotta checkout for a minute. Go back downstairs to my desk. Sit there. Breathe in, breathe out. Now. Ok. Where was I? Publishing. Yeah. Just how is that supposed to work? I still have no inspiration.
Man, I’m tired tonight. But it is my window to work. Gotta make hay… Without my son here I’m free to think on it for another week yet, to even begin to consider a plan…. but then I realize there’s a huge process and a sophisticated industry that I know nothing about behind it all – and I feel stopped. And that’s frustrating. And exhausting. So for now I’m just gonna put it all down for the night, turn off the lights.
And for the next eight hours at least, things really are gonna get dark.
6 thoughts on “A Darkening Upon Me”
“Grab him by the neck and talk him down…” lmao ;)
Think a combination of Erma Bombeck and Studs Terkel. That will get you there :) I’ve seen it all, kiddo–and I know your perspective needs to see the light of day (and will). The key is going to be teaming with an editor (two brains being better than one) and chewing up these million words you’ve penned, digesting them, and regurgitating them into a cohesive volume. If you can see the big picture, alone–great! But, I think an editor’s global vision, in unison with your yearning, will yield that block of platinum that sits on a pedestal to be admired in earnest by the millions of readers, worldwide. Visualize the thread that sews your chapters together and bead the units like popcorn, sequentially (with a few loopbacks and flashbacks for the artsy-fartsy crowd). It is hard. It’s hard because the brain has finite capacity to sum up gobs of data and see the big picture, let alone manufacture the big picture and polish it to a sheen. I’d get the editor on board and *then* the agent ;) “F” it…I’m a big picture kind of guy–send me the total sum and I’ll hyper focus on it until it’s a Venus de Milo (with arms) :)
i appreciate all that, and thanks, but how do i even find an editor with whom to collaborate? that’s a hurdle i’ve no idea how to overcome… plus i’m pretty sure they need to get paid. !! don’t mean to continue indulging in my doubt, but i don’t see it yet…
The *next* work you do will be a fictional account of those sordid characters dwelling on the fringe of your domicile and imagination, btw. (I’ve got you signed for a second book, already, see?) ;)
Take a look at Barbara Sher and her idea parties. On her website, you can post dreams with the obstacles and people will help you overcome the obstacles.
will do. worth a try… thanks!