It seems I’ve fallen into myself again. A new self. Not as happy and content. Not who I want to be necessarily, but myself nonetheless. We will see if that feeling continues, especially as the 18th draws nigh. Regardless, I’m happy about it. While there are times it seems I am sucked back in time and forced to relieve moments, most of the time, I am able to shut them out. It’s a fragile layer of cellophane that I am treading on, but at least it is a somewhat level surface. Maybe the further I go, the thicker and more secure the surface will become. Who knew I’d long for Plexiglas.
I got the response from my article last night. The publisher liked it. The interviewee didn’t like my take on it—too personal, too dramatic. It’s funny, the parts I was most proud of (the parts that will make someone want to read it), were the ones he wanted me to change. Actually, I understood why. It would be hard to see such personal aspects of your heart put on public display when you’re not used to it.
I battled with it for quite awhile last night—another late, late night to be getting up at six. I tried new beginnings and different ideas. Each one seeming lame and easily passed-over. Finally, I decided to be the pompous ‘artist’ I am. I kept it as it was and submitted it again (making all the other changes he wanted—adding more technical details) and made the argument for keeping it like it is. It felt strange to tell someone that I think I know the best way to tell THEIR story. But I do. We’ll see what ends up happening. It was my first taste of artistic differences. I can tell it is going to be my least favorite part of publishing the novels. I hope I get to experience that un-enjoyable privilege.
Black Coffee Tables
1 year ago