Pencils Down: You’re Living a Lie

Stop.

No matter where you are in your novel right now, just walk away. There’s no point in finishing. We were sold a bill of goods.

Now you might be saying to yourself, “No, Larry. I’m almost there. 50K is within striking distance.”

Well, I’m with you fellow sufferers. I’ve got the end goal in my sight, and I was all hyped for that final push until reality hit me in the face this morning. For those of you who haven’t ventured out into the world today (and I’m sure there are many of you, and can I just say you might want to mix in a shower every now and then) here’s how it went down.

When I was first encouraged to go on this grand hateful adventure, it was my understanding that the final week would be magical. Scantily clad groupies would line the streets and cheer us on with words of encouragement and promises of . . . affection. It is a well-known fact that the opposite sex finds the supple, sloth-like physique of us writer folk irresistible, and I was ready to claim my just rewards. I had, after all, spent countless hours not at the gym, so I was due.

Having just returned home from walking my children to school, I am sad to report the streets of my neighborhood were largely devoid of anything overtly sexy. (I exclude myself from this sample group, of course.) It is my concern that this may not be a localized phenomenon, and if that is the case, why are any of us killing ourselves over this?

If we are not writing for glory, sex, and the vanquishing of our enemies, then what is wrong with us? Is it possible we need to recalibrate our goals?

I say we put a pin in that for now. No need to do anything drastic.

On the off chance that this morning was just a fluke, I’m going to cobble a few words together and see if the afternoon provides better results.

You, though. You should just quit. Groupies love a quitter.

Larry Jenkins

Larry Jenkins is an aspiring Word Pimp. Has laptop, will travel. Let's make this happen, people.