I’ve gotta be honest. I’m way sadder than I thought I’d be.
“My Heroes Had the Heart” is not the first long work I’ve finished, but it is the longest and most involved. It’s also the only long work I’ve ever posted. In the month leading up to its completion, I prepared myself for finishing it to be difficult. Not the writing, but what comes after. Since last November I have written consistently, and always had that story and those characters to feel and fall back on when real life stress got to me.
It’s been a little over a week and I’m just sad. Quiet? There’s good things happening, and I’m reading and watching movies, but completing the story created a gaping hole and fear has rushed in to fill it. Fear of real life, the responsibilities and “what ifs”, the expectations I’m not meeting. Those anxieties were easy to ignore when I was writing, because I had a solid grounding tool, among others I use throughout the day.
Writing is the one talent I have that I know I have and am wholly confident about. It is a private practice and connective device, and it is not something that can be replaced. My friend said, “Just start writing something else.” How do I help her understand that there is no story? I write because I have to, because the story has to come out, and this one has run its course. and I’m not sure if this post makes sense or means anything to anyone, but it’s where I’m at.
