The trouble with Zizkov (the novel)

Speaking of Moving Along: so tomorrow is moving day for me. Another moving day, god it feels like my life is nothing but moving. I envy the people who have “normal” lives. I look at all the people with the houses and the kids and the families and I think, god, they have stability and normalcy and each other, it looks so nice and seems so much easier. Symbolically this is a new year for me, which seems fitting since I love the fall, but symbolically my year just ended and a new one is started. I’m not super excited about it, it just feels like I’m pulling up my boots straps and trudging along for the next challenge. I know that years from now I will either forget the past year or figure out the significance of it or, I don’t know, consider it my hardest year ever, I guess it doesn’t matter really, but I’d like to have something this coming year that actually turns out well so I can think- yeah I took that risk, it may have not worked out, but my god, thank god it did. It wasn’t that the year was bad, it had some of the most beautiful moments in my life, but the beauty is what makes everything that more painful when things don’t turn out as you hope, you know. Life is just so damn hard, and love, truly loving can be harder than anything imaginable. I hate looking at my life like I’m pulling up my boot straps, I’d really like it to be more than that, after all, it’s all I get, this time around, only one chance…

Anyway, the book I’ve been writing the past year, Zizkov, its been hard for me to get back to. I’m having a hard time picking it up again. My motivation has dissipated, and I have a difficult time seeing why I should bother to finish it. I suppose it would be for my own sense of accomplishment, but a huge part of my drive is gone, and I just don’t know if the story even really matters. I haven’t ditched the whole idea or desire for writing. I started up my other blogs once again, and I busted out a new short story last night, it’s just, I honestly can’t say if I am ever going to complete Zizkov. I question why I write all the time. It is obvious it isn’t for money because there is none of that, and as for popularity, well that’s not why I do it, I’ve only had one friend really read my stuff and that person is no longer in my life so now none of my friends read my stuff so it certainly isn’t to be popular. But a question even bigger than why I write is why do I write with the intention to be read. Really that is the question because I can write all I want and get all that stuff out of my head, all the stories, but why worry about whether anyone reads it or not? Why write to be read? I’m really not sure. Maybe the writing thing and writing for an audience is this need to be needed to feel that I can contribute something to this world, not something that makes me special or stand out, but something that allows me to feel like I am a part of this world, like I am a part of this life, that somehow I actually reach people, that I do matter. I don’t know maybe that’s a little over the top and all shaman journey left over stuff. I don’t know, but I’m not stopping the writing, its all I want now, it’s the only thing I really have the only thing that is mine completely, and I have control over it. I don’t control whether people like it or not or think its good, but that part of it doesn’t matter; what matters is that it is something I can do, and it can’t be taken away from me, and it can’t leave me, and it will be there as long as I work for it, so the writing that will keep going, but the novel, oh the novel. My feeling on Zizkov is that I had set it down once before and then picked it up again, but it feels to me that if I don’t pick it up again soon, and really work on it I wont be picking it up again. I’m just torn you know, my heart has lost its hope in it, and I wonder if I just sit down and start will I get it back or is it just gone for good?

Once I move and get settled, again, than perhaps I can find its beauty and its need to be completed again, but if not maybe I should just say good-bye, just accept it as something over and call it ashes.

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