This story I’m writing is closing and I feel like my friends are moving on and leaving me behind. The fictional kind, that is.
I know that when I have my first entire draft ready, my novel is far from finished. But it wrences my heart and gut to finish the story.
Yesterday I avoided facing the final chapters and cycled to Söderfjärden, which is where a meteor hit the earth 520 million years ago. Since yesterday was Earth Day, it felt fitting to go and stand in the middle of the round plain that’s now full of fields. It’s also the resting place of cranes on their Spring move northwards, but I only saw a few in the air and heard some more, because it was the middle of the day.
Today I cycled to the general expo in the neighbouring county (it’s only 7km one way). They had a book fair there as well and while listening to some of the interviews of authors, I recognised my dread.
I also realised how much I need human contact to keep me grounded. As I cycled to the expo, I had a hypotetical row with one of my characters. After talking to the friends I met at the expo, I cycled back thinking of my writing on a level that resembles schizophrenia far less.
Tomorrow I’ll try not to avoid work.