The postal clerk said the box weighed 4 lbs. 8 oz., but it felt like at least two large bags of cat litter on each of my shoulders for the past five months.
It represented the unceremonious and unsatisfactory end of a business project which has haunted and consumed me. As upset as I am with the ending, I couldn't help but feel a lot lighter as I walked back to the car.
When I got home I discovered the cats had reclaimed their rightful places in the office spaces where the project had squatted.
I opened a black and white composition book bulging with dialogue and character notes written on post-its, business cards, toll and grocery receipts during the time I was officially dedicated to the now absent project.
As I started to match the errant stacks by character, they too returned from their furlough. Some were peevish, others enthusiastic. As Tina's stack grew, I realized how incredibly sarcastic she had been in my absence. She's like that though. I don't think she enjoyed the project time at all. Johanna was good with it and it doesn't seem Madeline noticed.
I turned to the computer and opened the first chapters and my-kind-of-outline of their novel for the first time in months. In one read-through I was back in their world.
Being a writer is not glamorous, fun or exciting. Fiction has, thus far, not been in the least bit profitable. But that moment of re-immersion is incomparable.
I don't imagine normal people can know what it feels like. But normal people aren't generally writers.
It seems to work better that way.
No more "normal" projects for me until these girls have had their say.



Copyright 2004 Judi Griggs