Today was the last day of 2018, and it’s also my last blog post of the year.
I almost missed it.
One of the only reasons I’ve had success as an author, speaker and publisher is because I’ve been both relentless and consistent. I used to think my natural, God-given talent would carry me through, but I was wrong.
It’s the people who outwork everyone else who succeed. As Kurt Vonnegut wrote, “Talent is extremely common. What is rare is the willingness to endure the life of the writer.”
Vonnegut was right. I’ve got talent in spades, and always knew that; what I didn’t have, for a long time, was the intestinal fortitude to do the work I had to do to succeed.
Today I have that, even though I’m getting older and, most likely, not getting any stronger. Still, I’m grateful because the novel I’m writing now is the deepest, most personal work I’ve ever done.
It’s a little like therapy, and while it’s doing some good things for me, it does two things to me: one, it tires me, and two, it makes me forget about everything else on my calendar – like this blog.
I once read a great thing from a fellow writer about how, when you’re deeply into a novel you’re writing, you become less emotionally available. It’s as if you’re looking at the world, and everyone in it, through a bowl of skim milk.
That’s where I am now as 2018 winds out, and I delve deeper into the psychological recesses of my own mind in the middle of this novel. I’m excited about it, but it’s also a little scary. And shouldn’t every deep, meaningful work be just those things?
Happy New Year!
