Here’s a question
for writers. What do you do when you feel like quitting. You stare at the
screen, convinced it’s impossible to go on?
I’m not talking
about writer’s block. That’s temporary, like a marathon runner hitting “the
wall” but able to push through and keep running. It’s like an athlete that
thinks it’s possible to work through the pain. Every writer, I’m convinced,
experiences what we call writer’s block, with our unique way of getting past
“the writer’s wall.”
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No, I’m asking
what it’s like for you, when you reach the point where Forrest Gump decided to
quit running. He hadn’t reached a destination. For him, running didn’t have the
same meaning anymore.
Readers have
asked me how I do it, write a novel. They
suggest it must be easy. I’ve learned to smile and not dissuade them from that
notion. Do they want to know the literal beads of sweat writers develop during
their writing marathon?
They only want a
good read.
I remember the
time I asked myself that question, the one about why go on. I was working on
the third draft of The Cleansweep
Counterstrike. As a sequel to The
Cleansweep Conspiracy, I already knew
my characters. It should be easy, right? But it didn’t feel right. I call it
the sweaty part of writing. It ain’t fun.
It’s slow, methodical and dull as hell, truth be known. I couldn’t pinpoint the
problem with the story. It wasn’t ready for a reader.
My wife and I
decided to go on a cruise, something we’d never done before. It was a way to
escape the fear I’d reached the end of my writing, feeling like putting all my
writing files in an archive file, turning off the computer and opening a bottle
of wine.
I stood on the
deck of the cruise ship and decided I’d had enough. It was time to quit
writing. The ship docked in Bergen, Norway and we took a bus to the home of
Edvard Grieg. I’d won a piano competition when I was fifteen years old. My
competition piece was Grieg’s Piano
Concerto in A Minor.
I looked around
the small house, admiring the bucolic setting. Did Grieg ever feel like
quitting? Likely. But he kept on until the very end. I looked at the piano he
used and suddenly thought of my computer. My computer isn’t nearly as elegant
as his piano, but it’s where I compose my words.
My feelings of
writing despair evaporated. I knew I still had stories to tell, convinced I
could somehow find the words I needed to do just that.
I realized I
hadn’t reached a dead end or stop sign. Instead, it was a cul-de-sac, a place
to turn around and get back to the main road.
I would be
interested to hear if you, as a writer, have ever felt the same.
The Cleansweep Counterstrike is finally in the
hands of readers. They will offer the final judgment.
Until then, I will keep writing.
Chuck Waldron is the author of four riveting mystery, thriller and suspense novels and more than fifty short stories. Inspired by his grandfather’s tales of the Ozark Mountains and local caves rumored to be havens for notorious gangsters, Waldron was destined to write about crime and the human condition. Those childhood legends ignited his imagination and filled his head with unforgettable characters, surprising plots and a keen interest in supernatural and historical subplots.
With literary roots planted in the American Midwest and South, and enriched by many years living in the fertile cultural soil of metropolitan Ontario, Waldron now resides on Florida’s fabled Treasure Coast with his wife, Suzanne. While keeping an eye out for hurricanes, alligators, and the occasional Burmese python, visitors will find Waldron busy writing his next crime thriller.
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