Monday, October 5, 2015

Love/Hate Relationships With my Work-In-Progress. Fear the Walking Dead. The Leftovers. And Sanity in Numbers

When I wrote MILK-BLOOD, there was a period of about 5 weeks that I was going to delete it from my hard-drive. I hated that I even started it and cursed myself for thinking I could hammer out such a concept. I didn't have (nor do I believe in) writer's block, I just couldn't get any traction on plotting. 

Well, like a good marriage, I did the work, remained patient, and fell back in love with my partner all over again.

My current work-in-progress is in the loving it phase. I can only write about 30 minutes a day, but when I do, it's with excitement and enthusiasm.  New ideas, new dialogue, unexpected ideas; all of these flow effortlessly. It reminds me of miles 8 through 14 of a marathon which seem to be the easiest of the whole event, and you feel like nothing can stop you.  Of all the highs I've had, I cherish this one since it certainly gives a unique buzz to my brain. I'm writing some weird, twisted material. Things that make my fingertips talk back to my brain and say, "You really want me to write that? Well, okay, here goes."

Ah, but I know soon enough I'll hate the damn project. For now, I'll enjoy this portion. 

I'm also trying to hammer out a title.  So far, (although it has nothing to do with the book) this has the best ring to it:

All Dance Moms Must Die

*Last night was the season one finale of Fear the Walking Dead. I heard it was pretty good. Of course, if the season was pretty good, I would have been compelled to watch it live rather than DVR it. I've been feeling bored and cheated with the series. There are better zombie apocalypse premises in a zillion books on amazon, this one doesn't do it for me. It feels rushed, and cheaply made. Still, I will watch.

I didn't watch last night because I was watching the season premier of The Leftovers, perhaps my favorite HBO series outside of Game of Thrones. What an interesting show. The tone of season one, the intelligence, all the unspoken isolation and coldness and emotion it evoked without forcing you. It never tells you what to feel in any scene, just makes you feel that way by creeping into your senses.

My explanation here sucks. Let me try to explain something else.

Recently someone wrote me and thanked me for helping them through a hard time in recovery. I provided what support I could, but was like, "What? I didn't do anything." Even after he said what it was, I wasn't convinced I deserved any kind of thanks. But then it hit me: just being "out" as a recovering addict might have an impact. Just knowing there are others out there. Sure, they are in AA and NA meetings, but having those in recovery from addiction in everyday life, I think, just provides comfort.

There's sanity and safety in numbers.

Stay tuned for a blog post next week that I've been waiting 6 months to write. 

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