I’ve been thinking a lot about making things. That I have not managed to publish a book in the 20 years since Place Last Seen came out, is an ongoing source of frustration and shame. I’ve published some essays, and I’ve written a lot of blog posts. There’s a mystery novel manuscript that needs some fiddling with on the front end, and that half a novel about academia, farms, the horse business and social class. I haven’t managed, despite all those efforts, to publish a second book, but I have made a lot of things.
I spend a lot of time chastising myself for the things I am not doing, but every once and in a while I entertain the idea that the real goal is being and the doing is but a means to that end and for a moment I bask in the stillness and the momentary reprieve.
Alhamdullilah! I need to remember that I can write for the pleasure in writing, not just to have made a thing.
I spend a lot of time chastising myself for the things I am not doing, but every once and in a while I entertain the idea that the real goal is being and the doing is but a means to that end and for a moment I bask in the stillness and the momentary reprieve.