I am in the midst of editing Diyari Chronicles. I’m going to be honest with you. (No, I do not lie to you on other occasions.) I feel like I’m wearing cement shoes and slogging through molasses. I’m on draft five (*sniffle*) and . . . well I’m not having as much fun as I did on drafts two, three, etc. What’s different? I’m different. I know more about writing (the good and the bad) than I did one year ago. I’m more invested in becoming a writer than I was a year ago. I’m fully committed, which means I want the best for me and my story.
Hmmm, this kinda sounds like I’m in an intimate relationship. Here I am thinking I am spending my Friday nights alone. But alas . . .
When you meet someone new, you have the initial rush, the butterflies, the daydreams, the curiosity. You spend time together. You ask safe questions: favorite color, favorite vacation spot, favorite food. If you like the answers, you spend more time together. You invest more energy. You may decide to invest a tiny piece of your heart. After all, the person likes spinach pizza and the color taupe. How often do you see that? At the very least, you can be friends. Can you be more than friends? You dig a little deeper. You ask questions designed to get to the person’s core: past relationships, childhood experiences with parents, beliefs about family, where they see themselves in five years. All the answers are perfect. You invest more energy, more heart.
Everything is perfect.
This person is not perfect. You are not perfect. But you should bring out the best in each other. The person does not complete you. You do not complete them. You are two separate entities with the power to influence. Some days you both communicate well, move rhythmically. Some days you glare at this person, their words conjure scenes from Psycho in your mind. You shiver. You love this person, this relationship. How can you think such thoughts?
There are great moments and good moments and I-can’t-stand-you moments in relationships. Even when you work hard, give it your all, they still aren’t perfect. Do you shove your hands in your pocket, kick the dirt, and stomp away? If you never really learned about the person . . . if you never invested your heart . . . if you never fully committed . . . I suppose you could.
BUT . . . if you have learned and invested and committed, walking away is hard. I daresay impossible. You understand that relationships can’t be exhilarating all the time. Nothing that encourages you to grow and evolve can be a belly laugh everyday. (It’s called growing pains for a reason.) If you love the person, value the relationship, you will feel vibrations of joy. You will remember the initial rush. You will wear the cement shoes and slog through the molasses. Because you know sometimes this is necessary, if you want to be a better writer . . . if you want a better story.
(Man, I want a biscuit right now. J)