Silvercatcher

Sept. 29

Posted by Madeline on Sep 29 2009

Listening to : Jose Gonzalez

Reading: Hamlet

This update is late for a particularly important literary reason. On Sunday I finished Sava’s second book [my eleventh new book] at 274 pages.

There’s something ridiculous and absurd about finishing a book. This one took me about…five or six months- which isn’t that long in the real scope of things. Six months is one class, one serious fight with a friend, one vacation, two seasons. But when I finished the last sentence and planted the last period, an incredible wave of exhilaration washed through me- almost instantly to be replaced by depression. I started crying a minute later. Partly the reason was because the way I ended the book- I’ve never left an ending so disgustingly depressing [at least to me]- and the weight I left on my characters’ shoulders left me in a panic.

But a large part of the freak out was also just because I’d finished. I had finished the book- I couldn’t write scenes from that book in my head any longer, because they were all done. That’s a strange situation to be in, particularly because I have been writing some of these scenes in my head for about a year. I miss that book. I miss the fact that a large part of that story was fairly lighthearted- even if there was always a shadow of darkness hanging on the edge of every scene. But now, suddenly, I’m back on page one, with a nearly blank Word document, and a new sense of panic has taken over.

But that’s writing, I suppose. Starting over, building up, exploring a new region of my creativity to better understand a new region of humanity.

At least that’s the goal.

And lastly, a thought from the recently completed, second installment of Sava’s story:

We train to be prepared for this. And should anything happen, I will know what to do. His own words to his sister earlier in the season haunted him now, because he was suddenly, abruptly, overwhelmingly scared at the thought that his country was being attacked. That Verja men were already dying. That he had joined the Academy without knowing what he was getting himself into.

Her fingers squeezed his wrist just slightly, so faintly he thought he might have imagined the gesture. “You’ll never be ready.”