August was a travel month, so that’s a legitimate excuse for not sitting down in front of the laptop. Then came September and the beginning of teaching … which is a so-so excuse. But now it’s October and yet, I just can’t seem to get myself in the fiction-writing mode.
There’s a reason for this. It’s taken me a few days to dig it out and accept it. I’ve lost the impetuous to write due to one event: Based on a True Story.
Last summer was a major push to finalize Based on a True Story Part 1 and Part 2. In fact, I did complete both of them. They are done. Uploaded. Digitally published. And available or purchase. It was a major goal of mine for this year and I accomplished it completely.
You’d think I’d be broadcasting this accomplishment far and wide, in this blog and elsewhere. Well, that was my plan. I had structured a publication rollout for September, but when the time came … I realized something: I’m just not happy with the way BoTS came out.
The short stories, individually, are fine. But I had higher hopes. I wanted the collections of shorts to form pieces of a much larger, more complex puzzle. As the reader dove into each scene, an encompassing picture would emerge of the main character. Each story was meant to be an exercise in how the smallest, seemingly insignificant event of a man’s life builds momentum, clumps together like a snowball, and in the end overwhelms. A person’s life is no more than a series of memories. BoTS was meant to show that.
Yet, I don’t think it works. I’m unsure if each story propels the reader to continue. An overall concept like this requires patience. It also depends on trust: the reader must believe that I’m actually leading someplace, even though each story seems so disconnected and out of sequence. However, that trust is just not there. Of course not. Why should it be?
So, yes, I’m greatly disappointed in how it all turned out. That sort of feeling lingers. It’s been too long on this road. I’m so tired of ending up in the same place. For now, I need to think. I need to reflect on why I write and where I need to turn. The desire is still there. I’m filled with stories. Somehow I need to let it all out without the disappointment. I don’t know if that’s possible.