Immobilized

All good things come to an end and sometimes rather quickly such as life itself. But that should not bother me, for Montaigne says to philosophize is to prepare for death. However, I do not wish to discuss anything quite as gloomy as death even though it is bitterly cold again this morning in Chicago. It feels like a certain kind of death for me whose favorite attire is a t-shirt and shorts.

I had an idea for a story in 1982. I worked on it a little then. The idea was rekindled while I was talking to an acquaintance during the holidays. The idea has plagued my imagination while I have struggled to write this year’s book. I might abandon the work I have done this year and start working on this other idea if only to purge it from my mind. I hate to do it, but I may not be productive until I try to get the new thing on paper.

Worse yet, after seeing Shakespeare’s Pericles, I have recalled another idea for a novel from about 15 years ago. I see places where I went wrong with it back then that might be repaired.

This indecision immobilizes me. I cannot predict how it will come out no matter what I choose, so I don’t know why I worry about it.

During the past year, I have grown accustomed to the thought that I might never write anything good by the time I die. I can live with it and still be happy.