For the last stretch of years – four or five, at least – I’ve had a few writing projects hanging over my head. I have avoided thinking too much about them because the truth is, I resent them. I’m writing for an audience I don’t really know in a format I don’t really like. I probably shouldn’t have created the obligation to do the writing, but I did, and so, for years now, it has loomed over me. Truth is, it’s not a lot of writing. All told, it’s six smaller pieces and one slightly longer piece. I’ve completed four of the small pieces and am nearly done with the fifth.
And, truth is, were I to tuck my head, take an Adderall, and just. fucking. write? It could all be done in the course of one, maybe two weekends.
The end is, as you can see, in sight. I had set a goal of Labor Day to finish the small pieces, and New Year’s to finish the longer one. I’ll miss the first deadline, but only slightly, I expect. Not bad.
Here’s the important thing, though:
All this stuff hanging over my head has gotten in the way of all sorts of other endeavors – primarily, but not exclusively, reading and writing. And now, as the end comes into sight? I find myself growing excited. Excited for all the reading I’ll permit myself (I tell myself) to do. For all the writing….
I have a growing list of writing projects. Small ones – blog posts, little essays. Mid-sized ones – larger, more complicated essays, with more specialized audiences. And yes, I continue to harbor the fantasy that I have a book or three gestating in me.
I know there’s a book or two in this blog, but that no longer interests me all that much. It never really did. I always said, if an editor or publisher approached me – If they said “Hey! No one has written anything like this before. Not only are you unique as a male sex blogger, you are unique as a memoirist, as a critic.” – well then, I might hatch a book or two out of this ridiculous compendium of never-ending self-indulgent navel-gazing. But no one has, and I’ve never lifted a pinky finger to make that happen.
No, the book, or books, I have in me are nearly completely unrelated to 99% of what I’ve written here. I have at least half a dozen first chapters written, but, over the years, the projects hanging over my head have prevented me (I have allowed them to prevent me) from progressing any further.
My hope is that, as the projects come to a close, there will be all sorts of words spewing forth.
Time will tell.