“It would be dead for me”
“I am having a hard time with the book. Have enough paper written to make it complete, but must do all over again. I just didn’t know where I was going and when I got there I saw that I had come to the wrong place. that’s the hell of being the kind of writer who cannot plan anything, but has to make it up as he goes along and then try to make sense out of it. If you gave me the best plot in the world all worked out I could not write it. It would be dead for me.” — Raymond Chandler
I have written my current work in progress five times now. Well, only completely to the end three times. Still, all five have been deleted en masse. What’s wrong? I wish I could say for sure. I’ve been struggling for a couple of years now and I realize a lot of it has to do with my disgust with and distrust of the small press and publishing as a whole.
It is soul sucking.
But this story should be fun. No pressure. A group project in my favorite genre. Yet, it doesn’t feel like my story. And therein lies the rub.
It’s like that Chandler quote above — If you gave me the best plot in the world all worked out I could not write it. It would be dead for me — That’s how it feels for me every time I’m working on something not straight from my brain to my fingertips.
Having my best friend pass, a litany of health issues for me, my better half, and my kid, a bloody roof leak from hell, a dead car, and a whole host of other life issues have not freaking helped matters one bit.
Writing is supposed to be my escape from all that.
So, with that being said, I’m working on rectifying the situation by finding my center and making this story mine. I will write my way out of this abyss, come hell or high water.