Forgotten
I’m withering
and shrinking
in on myself,
retiring,
expiring,
all but a corpse,
unimportant,
but wanting
no death just now,
still surviving,
desiring
not yet to cease,
not to crumble
or tumble
into the abyss,
continuing,
aspiring
to be legend.
So why haven’t I published a novel?
Words come and flee,
un-captured
free-form spirits
flown far away
on the wind
twixt my temples,
now out of mind
out of touch,
out of space bar,
all out of time,
same as I,
so soon, too soon.
I’ll not e’en be
a mere speck
within God’s eye,
not e’en a joke
or a whim,
no afterword.
Because I haven’t published a novel.
—Michael K. Eidson
Yikes! I thought I was depressed!
Hey, Grandpa! I just thought I’d have a novel published by now. I’m determined to publish one or three in 2015.
I had a choice or two in my life: to publish a novel and get rich, or to have children. It became obvious that both couldn’t be accomplished, at least by me. Too easily distracted.
Besides, someone already beat me to the Poor Little Rich Boy Who Lost His Innocence and His Sled Named Rosebud plot.
Hey, Grandpa. I don’t expect to get rich from publishing a novel. It’s just something I need to do to feel fulfilled in my life. Real life has to come first, but there are pockets of time I can grab for writing. And rewriting. And rewriting. I’m not looking to “perfect” my story, but I do want the reading of it to be enjoyable and memorable. So I still have some work to do.
I have no doubt you shall deliver an enjoyable and memorable novel. Your nonfiction fiction (i.e. TnT stuff that isn’t a story, but certainly isn’t all fact) has always held my interest.
You got this, seriously. Got. This. You’ll own 2015.
Thanks, Katie. Your encouragement helps more than you know.
I’m looking forward to the third book in your series, too!