I have a lot of writing to do. And a lot of work ahead of me to get the things I want. For instance, I haven’t yet finished my fourth novel. Why not? Well, I have my excuses; I’ve been working on other projects, I’ve been freelancing, I’ve been acting, I’ve been trying to earn money so I can pursue my dream of moving to the US. It’s all bullshit. I mean, of course, I’ve been doing all these things, but to be honest, I’ve been going through a period where I just haven’t felt like writing much fiction.
I’ve still been expressing myself, writing silly ditties, poems (some of which I’ve performed), but in the back of my mind, I have Meredith sitting there waiting for me, and I know she’s good. I know the story is good. And it’s going to get done. When *I’m* good and ready. Because right now, I’m not sure that I am. There’s something in it, you see, that cuts a bit close to the bone, and I think maybe I need to finish a certain chapter of my life before I can get through it.
When I go back and look at what I’ve written so far, I get excited, and I can feel sparks, and mostly, I’m happy with it. It’s almost finished. But I have a bit of a mental block. So, that’s why I’ve been focusing on other things.
I frivolously tell people it’s taking me so long because I can’t decide who needs to die in the end. That’s true, but there’s a lot more behind it, and this is me coming clean. I know some people are waiting, and they’re going to have to wait just a little bit longer. Okay?