Last Monday

In the Big Chill Jeff Goldblum plays writer and he’s asked what his novel is about.

He says, “I’m going to write about this weekend.”

Glenn Close asks, “What were you going to write about before?”

He says, “Last weekend.”

That is by far my favorite line of the entire movie. In fact, it might be why I even like the movie.

If you’re reading this and you’re a writer you know exactly why I love that line. Because sometimes, in the midst of writing, you realize you have no idea what your writing will become.

People ask what your new novel is about and you sort of shrug and say, “It’s hard to explain.” Really. It is. Cause I don’t have a clear plotline or climax. Because I haven’t given everyone a name or even decided what city, year, planet the damn thing will be on.

I’ve written 90,332 words. They just don’t make sense yet. Not out loud. They make sense in my head but I can’t articulate what it all means. It’s like a dream that makes total sense until you try to explain it. Then you realize it’s all a jumbled mess of feelings and scenes, and time.

Not a waste of time. Just time.

When you get down the the wire. The fourth quarter. The fucking end. When a deadline looms and you tell yourself this is it. Sit down and write.

Then you go to McDonald’s.  You make coffee. You decide that you can’t live one more second until you clean all the baseboards in your house!

Maybe, just maybe, you don’t want the story to end.

You don’t want to hit send.

You want to keep it for yourself just a little longer.

Make it a little stronger.

You want to give the world the best it can be.

You want the world to see what you see.

Your you could be a procrastinator, like me.