Living with the Dead

Last night one of my friends told me that I was living with the dead. She said it wasn’t very good for me, and was making me have a hard time seeing the living. I do not live in a paranormal novel.

I am in a strange place with the memoir. A lot of the chest-thumping grief-laden portions are written out. And then I get told that the grief sounds just one note. I need more notes to write a book. I don’t think that friend is wrong either.

This is the place where I could imagine giving up (although I won’t, because if I’m going to lose all my friendships over a book, I’ll be damned if I don’t get a book out of the process).

I have written it out, and now I have to shape the unwieldy pile of words. I have to add layers. I’m still creating the house, placing the rooms, it is not yet time to paint the walls. I’m good at painting, but I’m not much of an architect.

Time to learn.

What keeps you from giving up?

 

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20 responses to “Living with the Dead

  1. I really don’t know other than if I quit, what would I dream about? What would I look forward to? I mean, yeah, my kids and all that jazz but on a purely just me level, what would I be without writing?
    Probably a lump eating cheetos and drinking microbrews on the couch (Oh, new favorite is the Great Lakes Brewing Co. Seriously good. All of them, which is rare.) while watching Desperate Housewives of (town name redacted).
    And not that you’re asking, but just an unasked for thought: If the grief sections are one note, try looking at the angle that you’re approaching them from. Perhaps it’s too large a scope and it needs to be brought down to the size of a pencil lead. Maybe the grief is too general instead of uncomfortably specific, so specific that if you were to tell a specific friend (one you have in your head, name and all) the story as if it happened to someone else, they would cry. Angle, pencil lead, specificity.
    Just a thought.

  2. Pingback: Mantras | Fangs and Clause

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