I started crying five minutes ago because I was watching eTalk daily (stay with me) and they were talking about this week's Giller awards.
I didn't even know the Gillers were this week.
Who am I? What has happened to my interest, passion, and ambition for literature and writing? I have been reading All the Pretty Horses for two months now and McCarthy is a god to me. I bought 7 summer novels and four of them haven't left the shelf.
More importantly I haven't written a thing in longer than I would like to admit.
My biggest fear is that I will never do this. But I am getting closer to the point where I will be ready to admit it to myself that it's not going to happen. And if I was enjoying what I was doing instead, I may feel differently about it.
But for now, it is embarassing and it is heartbreaking.
1 comment:
Maybe we can get together and not write some time? I have journals and poems out the ying yang, but nothing from probably the last 5 years. From more recently, I have 2 half written children's books and a good start on a novel.
your word verification is "strag" today, which is almost a real word. Maybe that's a sign.
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