For most of my life, I've always thought i was a main character. but lately I've been feeling like a side character who's about to be cut from the script. You've heard it before, i'm sure. I was gonna do this and i was gonna do that and how did i end up like this and when did it come to that? That's being human i guess.
I want to blame my father for many of these problems. He was the type to push you in the direction you wanted to go, no matter how misguided you seemed in hindsight. Have you ever had that feeling, of believing wholeheartedly that you were gonna do that thing and it was all gonna work out? But, years later you're 28 and you realize you shouldn't have dropped out of college to be a writer one drunken night.
After my father died, i decided to move out of the city and back to our lackadaisical little suburb to be with my mom. I figured i needed an escape. Maybe i'd get a part time job, take some time off and then continue working on my novel. But it's been 3 months, and i'm getting nowhere again.
Let it be known, that I love my mother. She's whole reason that i moved home, well partly. Truth be told I was broke and getting nowhere with my novel. My Agent couldn't give me another advance and I was about to be out on my ass if I didn't get a "real" job.
I wake up to the sound of my mother downstairs making breakfast, with the her clamoring of pots and pans, of dishes and plates. I can practically drown in the smell of waffles.
"Morning Sarah", my mothers voice rings through my ears bright an early as usual. For a round portly woman, she's got such a shrill voice. When I enter the kitchen, I'm met with her always ready smile, and her Red autumn hair that sways as she bounces around the kitchen. I give her an acknowledging "hn" and take my seat at the table, ready to devour my morning sustenance.
She sets a plate of waffles in front of me and we eat in silence. I'm not sure how long it's been since we've eaten together- my mom and dad and me. I look at the wall by the phone. There's that picture of us, still hanging there after all these years. It was our first and only time to Disney land, and Dad was just dead set on commemorating it. I was 12 and I had the biggest gap in my teeth, Mom had her arms wrapped around me, pressing her hair into my face. And dad, he was alive, and he looked happy with his goofy hair style that belonged in the seventies.
After breakfast, my mother Insists on hugging me before leaving for work. After she leaves I sit on the sofa and contemplate suicide. The suicide of my would be career that is. After a few minutes, i give up on my contemplation and i drag my laptop from under couch and I get to work. It doesn't take long for me to get words on the page. My process consists of starting with an action, which quickly spirals into a mess until, I start haphazardly deleting sentences left and right. Then i start over.
Some might call this an inefficient process, and they'd be right. Soon I stop. I look at the page before me. Then I close my laptop and lay down for a while.
This has been my life for the past three months. Actually this has been my life for a few years now. For the next hour or so I lay there, and actually contemplate suicide. My phone buzzes several time. It's my agent. I ignore it.
I've only published 3 works in my life. None of which have given me any recognition. I sometimes search for them online only to read less than positive reviews. I laze around for the rest of the day and eventually go to sleep. Another day another failure.
I eventually cave a few days later and answer my agents calls. She says I have till the end of the month to give her a draft of anything or we'd be through. Perfect.
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