Had to attend the funeral of my own novel yesterday. Time came to kill one of my darlings - this dreaded by writers point when it becomes clear that what looked like a promising lovely book will never make it to the shelves of the bookstores. Did I cry? A lot. Did I give up. Surely not. I am translating it for another market. I am a resurrection believer. Everything is energy. What goes around, comes around. Did I learn something? Definitely. I am stronger than I thought.
In additon, received a great children's book to translate as well. The writer is the one I quoted a couple of posts earlier. Love her writing, it makes me smile. Reminds me of my own childhood when, instead of playing outside, I wrote absurd stories which, by the way, were even published and awarded. Where and when did I lose this talent remains unknown.
Saxophone helps as well - a midnight cry singing of oceans and starry nights, men and women engaged in the dance of life. glasses with sparkling champagne and crickets in love... This kind of stuff. Anticipating the summer which, I know, will bring something extraordinary.
No comments:
Post a Comment