Last week love was in the air. Or rather, on the page. Like the tree in The Last Unicorn that falls in love with Schmendrick the Magician, I just wanted to hug my own words and say, “Oh, love, love, love, love, love…”
Oh, but a fool and her words are soon parted.
How does a writer stay level-headed? You need to love your story, but like the jerk who loves the sound of his own voice, well, you’ve got to know when to shut up.
But you love your story! Sigh. We all know people who fall in love with bores, jerks, losers, criminals, cheats, abusers, and parasites. Everyone says, “God, what does she see in him?” or “What the hell is he thinking?” But that little idiot is in love and though the idiocy is clear to everyone else, that little idiot shall not be swayed. “No one understands! No one has loved like this before!” Maybe this time, however, you are the little idiot.
Everyone is standing around shaking their head and sighing and wondering who if anyone should tell you that this love affair with your novel will come to a bad end. Years wasted. Money spent. Friends neglected or tossed aside. And you’ve taken your novel out and embarrassed yourself and your family at that big party. Oh, you won’t be invited back again. No, siree.
As I get deeper and deeper in this relationship with my writing, am I lucky in love? The envy of others with their broken story lines and forsaken characters? Or am I the little idiot?
How do we ever know?