Spend four hours reading your novel.
Feel abjectly depressed about its suckitude.
Wrestle with 1) the feeling that you should give it up 2) the feeling that you have nothing else going for you.
Mope around the house. Frown at your twins.
Rethink your life and career. Consider being a house husband and nothing else. Consider being a carnie, or running away with a circus.
Confess to your wife, when she arrives home, the wife who has patiently supported you through the years, that you are throwing away the last five years of work.
Marvel at her ability not to freak out at this news. Go workout. Do a crazy intense treadmill exercise for 50 minutes, include lunges, running backwards uphill, and running at 10 mph. Get close to collapsing. Drench even your socks in sweat. Blow out all the synapses of the last five years. Wipe the slate clean.
Come back home. The twins are asleep. The wife goes to bed. Start your new novel. Write 4,000 words in the next 4 hours. CPR the dream.
6 comments
That is one productive form of giving up. Sorry for your loss/Congrats on your new beginning.
Thought that was me until you got to the twins. I don’t have twins. Nor am I male. Otherwise, yes.
“CPR the dream” is my new favorite phrase. Love this.
Thanks! And thanks for the follow on Twitter, too.
The cruise ship sinks, you wash up on a beautiful island. In between you almost drown, but it’s worth it. Can’t wait to read it when it’s done!
Well, it’s now 2 and a half months later, and I’m finished with this new novel. With that kind of pace, I’m very glad that I threw away the last one. Thanks everyone for your kind words of support.