Carrie Balboa

What am I going to do if I don't do this? That's the question I just asked myself.

I'm sitting in front of the blank screen and I'm like, "I can't do it."  But I can and I must, if I'm honest.

I've been thinking back on the last nine years or so.  I recall going for a week to the top of a mountain in Asheville, NC and working my novel with a bunch of novel geek writers like me.  This was probably the best week of my life - personally, a "for me" kind of week; and I came back so happy and excited.

I was pretty heavy into writing this blog, and I was hearing the voices of my characters all day, every day.

About a month after returning from the mountaintop, my father died unexpectedly.

That was the last time I had any sort of passion for writing.  I lost the muse?

Not likely, but I think it was more of a "Shit, every time I pick myself back up, something shitty happens.  I have to stay down."  Actually, I know that's what it was.

It took me nine years to discover the reason for my failure to stay with the dream, stay in the ring, stay passionate and listen to the voices.

Since then, I've had other characters knocking on my door, and I am fifty-six pages into a novel that I think can be good with time, much more character development, many more words and a lot of editing.  I started it in January of 2018.

Fifty-six pages.  Wow!  Not really - it's been almost a year and a half. It equals less than a quarter of a page per day.

Just writing that sentence sends a pang of regret through my heart, because once you realize the cause of the stopping, you have regret for stopping.  And that, my friends, is yet another hurdle to overcome.  But overcome it, I shall.

Fact is, I'm sick of not writing. I'm sick of feeling sorry for myself for not writing. I'm sick of being afraid to write.

So, I write.  I am happy. I  have joy again.  And something bad happens.  Is it because I'm happy and joyful?  Hell no.  God doesn't work that way.

I am reminded of when Rocky lost to Clubber Lang in Rocky III.  He and Adrian (Yo!) are arguing on the beach and she prods him for a few minutes, yelling into his face as the wind blows through her hair and the waves crash on their ankles.

She asks him, "Why'd you come here?"  And then they talk - "you're not a quitter," "what do you want me to say?," "what's so bad?". . .

Finally, the argument climaxes and it finally comes out!

"What's the truth, dammit?"

"I'm afraid!"  And then he blames himself for Mickey's death.

And Adrian says, "get rid of it.  It's going to bother you the rest of your life.  You do it for you, just you alone."

"And if I lose?"

"Then you lose, but at least you lose with no excuses. . . no fear."

Then he finds the eye of the tiger and beats Clubber Lang.

I want to be Rocky.