I think my Mom is probably worried I’m cheating on Sage. She sat nearby as I chatted with Holly and referred to my latest work as my “boyfriend.” Creative work, in my case manuscripts, does feel like having an affair from daily life. I had mentioned to Holly in spring that this latest boyfriend is not marriage material. I am in ninth grade, writing career wise, and I’m dating a manuscript I don’t plan to marry. I’m just out here “having fun” and learning about dating.
And this is why I didn’t date much in high school. I hate the idea of loving someone as practice. And I hate the idea now of wasting my time on creativity that isn’t good enough for others to read or isn’t good enough to light my soul on fire.
Love is love. Creativity is creativity. Why must it ever feel like practice? Or maybe the question is, why must it be going somewhere, evolving and ultimate? Why must love lead to marriage and writing lead to publication?
Because I am in some kind of linear trap. So, I am breaking up with my semi-finaling, 1/3 done manuscript. This may be a grave error and it’s very unlike me to move on without another guy lined up (i.e.: I don’t have a new WIP ready), but I’m moving on anyway.
Now to the big question . . . same genre where I appear to making progress and once felt “called,” or something completely different. More on why that’s a consideration on my next post.