This time last year I had just finished writing a novel. I started in February and finished it in August. For those seven months it was never very far from my thoughts. It didn't feel like work. It was as much fun as I've ever had writing anything. Loved every minute of it. When I was done, a two month proof reading and editing phase began during which time I plotted and schemed trying to find a way to get it published.
Then something amazing happened. The momentum that had carried the project forward for nine months disappeared into thin air. I never saw it coming and to this day can't remember how it happened. All I know is, my other life came roaring back with a vengeance. I got busy with other things. One of the other things was the book I wrote about my parents, Finishing Well. I was in a rush to get that one self published to have it ready to give to my family at Christmas. But when that was done, I never followed through with doing anything with the novel. It was as if after building it into a finished product, it was now too heavy to get moving again from a dead stop, kind of like a freight train full of coal that's sitting still. Momentum.
Now, the manuscript sits in the bottom drawer of my nightstand, neatly typed, held together with a mighty black metal clip. The cover page has the title...A Life of Dreams, and that's exactly what it feels like to me now...a dream. Now, I've got the itch to write another one. Why? Because it's incredibly exciting and great fun to create something. But inspiration meets up with perspiration rarely in this life, so most of the time nothing gets followed through. That's why the old prophets said, "the end of a thing is better than it's beginning." After all is said and done, more gets said than done.