how a wave unridden

became a book unwritten

Welcome back fools.

They - the ordinary fools - say that books don’t write themselves.

I disagree.

Ordinary fools write books.

We remarkable fools? They just seem to ‘happen’ for us.

This is a long post. Click on the footnote here¹ for the TLDR version.

As I said yesterday, I’ve been attempting to draw this book out of me.

And, as I mentioned yesterday, it’s been difficult.

I’ve tried discipline.

I’ve tried deadlines.

I’ve tried playing it safe.

I’ve tried ignoring it. Oh sure. I sent it a text, waited a couple of day before looking its way again. The entire process was terrible. I was just so damn insecure. Does it like me? Does it really want to be my book? Or, is it just trying to be nice and let me down easily.

As it happens?

None of this is true.

The book apparently doesn’t give a shit about me.

It does not care if I exist at all.

And give a shit, I’ve tried that too.

I’ve eaten my words. Lots. They typically come served with a heaping spoon filled with humility and topped with a ‘foot in t…