Lately I have been contemplating editing the manuscript I started writing a decade ago. During the time of the actual writing of this book, the process was interrupted by major changes in my life. Like surviving the 2006 invasion of Lebanon, moving to Canada, and the saddest and worst of all, losing my husband to cancer.
With all that was going on in my personal life at that time, I somehow managed to finish the first draft some four years ago. For the past few weeks I have been thinking of editing and fixing it somehow, but after I put the book down I realized that I don’t like what I wrote. The book doesn’t say anything to me. I don’t feel with the characters and the story doesn’t make sense anymore.
And I thought of course it won’t make any sense since not only did my entire life change but my beliefs, my outlook on life in general is quite different now. Especially after losing my love, my dearest husband. And I realized that all I am doing lately is complaining. About the snow, the cold weather, the TV programs, the books that I read, publishers nowadays, agents and marketing.
And I realize now the more I complain the more blocked I become. And that scares me. Then I have to find a way to unblock myself. I am so caught up with my pain and troubles and worries, in the past and the future, that I am missing the now.
Friedrich Nietzsche once tried to describe the inability of writing to capture it all.
“Think of all the great books ever written. Now close your eyes and think about one moment in real life.”
Now that’s a start!
Happy writing everyone!