by Lillian Csernica on June 11, 2016
We’d been together for years. It’s hard to remember a time when we haven’t been together. I knew it would be a big commitment. What we’ve built together is strong. There are good days. There are bad days. In the end, we’ve always ended up working at it together again.
Then it happened.
I didn’t see it coming. I really didn’t. One minute I was trudging along in my happy little rut, taking care of that day’s To Do list. The next….
Nothing equals the excitement of a new beginning. A fresh start, full of all the possibilities, the starry-eyed joy that you feel before any of the mistakes start happening.
I wanted to stay up all night. I wanted it to last forever. That feeling. That sense of power, of fulfillment. It’s addictive. It’s also a trap.
The fast fix. The one night stand. Getting it all in one quick and dirty burst.
Short stories are such sluts. They’ll let anybody write them.
I’d betrayed my novel. It sat there at home, waiting for me, while I was off having a fling with A New Idea.
It’s so difficult. At times the temptation is intense. I just want a project I can finish! I love typing “END.” Is that so wrong?
My novel has to come first. Oh, I can have my little stories on the side, but I have to do the day’s work on my novel first. Then, if I have any energy left, any lingering “unmet needs,” only then can I go run off and play with some trollop of a short story.
They call it “career management,” but it feels a lot more like couples therapy.