Woke up this morning feeling very good about The Long Run. Last Saturday I had lunch with a good friend who was a mover and shaker in the running business. He pointed me down a new line of inquiry for the book — one so novel and out of nowhere that I couldn't wait to weave it into the text. At last, after months laboring to separate fact from legend, a clear path forward.
I did absolutely no writing on Sunday, which only heightened the anticipation. Well, most of Sunday. Seized with inspiration just before watching the White Lotus finale, I scampered out to my office and wrote a couple quick sentences before I forgot them. This is always the sign of a good book. It means I'm engaged. Books that don't capture my soul and feel more like work are forgotten the moment I close my laptop and turn off the light in my office. Books that percolate in my subconscious 24/7 make me feel alive.
Now, I did something on Friday that I don't usually do, and perhaps should not have done at all: showed a few chapters to two people I trust completely for honest feedback. It's always dicey this early in a first draft, because I haven't had the chance to take a helicopter view of the work and see the glaring faults. But, you know, I was feeling my oats. And I have to admit that not having a co-author after fifteen years had me looking for a little dialogue about the written word.
I wouldn't call what happened this morning as "it all came crashing down." Yet I read one batch of comments before I'd gotten around to writing a word. They weren't bad. Not at all. But my very AI-savvy buddy John Burns let ChatGPT have a look. What came back were about a dozen new directions I could take the story. Ugh. To make matters more confounding, they were all brilliant.
There is a dish of peanut butter M&M's on the dining room table as I write this. It's a beautiful day and I've moved to a spot where I can feel the sunshine, listen to the fountain, and smell the deep green of spring as I write. In the sudden confusion about where to go next with the book, I would prefer not to write another word today. Draining the candy dish and day drinking seems a far more attractive option. Avoidant behavior isn't the worst decision in the world, is it?
This is why God invented deadlines. And mortgages. And self-esteem.
Tons of how-to books about writing will talk about creativity and finding your quiet place to listen to your muse. That's not it. Writing is decisions, decisions, decisions. What to write? What's the first word? What's the first sentence? How to get into the chapter and how to get back out? Then, when a whole new batch of data is thrown at the narrative, that also needs to be culled and refined.
So, I'm going to sit with my new garden of storytelling dilemmas. If I really get stuck I'm going to step out of the office for an hour to find a trail. That usually provides clarity. I won't eat the M&M's (other than the five I've already gobbled). There will be no IPA(s). I'll find 1,000 good words. They're going to make me laugh and think and perhaps cry. In this way, day after day, I will write an unforgettable story.