Strange Sense of Mourning

It’s odd. I feel like I’ve lost something and I’m only now letting myself get sad about it. Not that I’ve lost the novel by saying I am almost prepared to declare it finished—more that I’ve lost this fantasy in my head of what Life as a Writer would be. It’s not what I expected. Door closed, for real this time. And I’m feeling melancholy about it, is all.

I got another freelance writing assignment today. Not the one I was hoping for, but a smaller project writing word games based on a TV show I’ve seen only once or twice. Of course my name will not appear anywhere on it. It’s funny: when I was a kid and imagined myself growing up to be a writer and publish books I never thought they would be books like these. Ironic? Sad? Ridiculously funny? This is life? I don’t know just yet.


2 thoughts on “Strange Sense of Mourning

  1. Helen June 27, 2006 / 12:03 am

    Hey, the show isn’t over ’til the fat lady sings! The books you’re currently writing are just the first step. You’re on the road to where you want to go, the Life as a Writer as you imagined it is in the future. Or maybe you’ll get an even better Life, more than what you envisaged.

  2. bloglily June 27, 2006 / 12:59 pm

    Hey Nova — Think of it as your day job. (Your second day job, it sounds like.) You need not feel as though writing these sorts of things diminishes you as a writer. Who knows, you might write a book about a girl who goes to the city and becomes a freelancer and …. Best, BL

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