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They’re there for me. Whether I want them to be or not. Is that a true friend? Their letter this week read:
06-02-20_10:25PM_CRTV-NDRGRND_PORTSMOUTH-DIV_ARCHIVE_044_THE TEXT
Dear Mr. Nick,
We notice the habit you’ve gotten yourself into over the last year and a half. The habit of going to THE TEXT regularly. Your TEXT. The secret TEXT. It is there where you discover more of who you are every day.
You started writing the book because you had a feeling. Nothing more. Just a feeling of simple longing for a good story. The feeling became so overwhelming that you sat down at your computer to write. Nothing heavy at first. 5 to 6 days a week. 20 minutes here, 20 minutes there.
THE MAN would whisper in your ear. Or he would stand in the doorway of your upstairs office and cross his arms. “There are more productive hobbies,” he would say. You shrugged him off……at first.
As the text grew, so did your uncertainty, and the scope of the project. It looked like a lifetime work. THE MAN really laughed now, “you’re way in over your head old boy!” Somehow you hung on, through the self-doubt. You developed callouses. You have a supportive wife. You had some bad days...really bad. But the good days filled you with a kind of creative possibility that you live for.
Isn’t it strange, how THE TEXT builds mass? You wake up to it, say your prayers, and get after it. Adding to THE TEXT. There’s so much of it at first. Too much to judge. But with time, THE TEXT becomes familiar. The characters become like friends. You walk around in the story. You discover the dark secrets. Skeletons in closets. You seek to help. It's a real place.
THE TEXT takes on a life of its own. You are only a servant. That sounds like artistic none sense. It is not. Anyone that’s written a book knows. The best books transcend you. Even THE MAN has nothing to say but, “Well, it's still not a very good book. Rookie.”
But just laugh. You know he has no idea.
With Love,
T.C.U.
P.S. BACK TO THE TEXT
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