sometimes you just gotta' row


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It started after a prolonged period between projects. I used to work as a consulting project manager. The market conditions swung in a way that favoured the buyer, in this case, financial institutions / capital markets, and engagements at normal fee rates became fewer and more difficult to land. I did manage to write. I’ve never really stopped writing since age eight and the lull in my real world created an opportunity to register in a part-time, short-story course.

With an absence of billable hours combined with the boundless encouragement and support of my partner at the time, I expanded the writing format from poetry and short stories to a novel-length piece. It became a trilogy and then transformed into a tome to inspire a brave new world. Diversion? Sure enough but wait, there’s more.

I decided a retreat was required and, to fund it, I sold most of anything material I’d collected over a lifetime. Landed in the Laurentian mountains, sixteen months ago.

Ideals dictated that the work was to adhere to truth regardless of my level of comfort and, it might be that only now am I following that dictum. Truth is, I’ve gathered enough research, developed enough familiarity and am driven with the compassion needed to complete the above noted trilogy. Truth is, I haven’t been able to finish.

The question has moved beyond the realms of ability or talent – doesn’t matter anymore. Finishing the work is not dependent upon a gazillion dollar publishing deal but is about writing the story. I’ve managed to enable distractions of sufficient weight for long enough to have all but ensured that the money will be gone, really gone, before the end. Why, or wtf?

Sure, it’s difficult enough to pull off a first novel, but not too hard. Recent considerations about the demise of yet another relationship might have surfaced the core issue, or at least one of them.

She is talented, intelligent and attractive in every facet that matters. We managed to pack many joyful, fulfilling steps into the rather short time we shared and, we “get” each other. More than finishing a sentence for the other, we were able to revisit a 2-week old thought with a single word and we’d both know what the other was thinking about. A forgotten name, an obtuse punchline…or any ingredient needed to complete a conversation or idea. One of those deals where the come-back comes back ten days later and you’re the only one who knows. In this case, there was someone else. A shared wavelength, pretty cool.

A key value from this level of connection is a sense of validation. Not about right or wrong but ok and relevant. Golden. It gets you through foggy things like doubt and insecurity.

While there’s been much encouragement and validation for my writing all the way along this rather long, dusty road, at this juncture it’s just me and my keyboard. I don’t know that there can be another way. The struggle boils down to something akin to fear and there is little in the way of applicable logic or available nurturing to fortify the effort.

What there is, I think, is a requirement to figure out the source of the friction and, I believe, there is something about forgiveness…reconciling the past, for what it’s worth, as well as I can. Yes, I know, this is the nature of the Yule season, to move beyond the longest night to begin again. If the brightness of days to come is related to the length and darkness of the nights passed, the future ought to be brilliant. I hope it’s good for her too.


Written by glh

December 29, 2010 at 22:23

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