Each New Year

Every January as I turn the calendar to the New Year I have a longing to work on my Colorado Book. A novel that is in disarray. When I start to read the beginning chapters I say to myself, "This isn't so bad." I enjoy it, I think I might actually be a great writer." (Notice I say great right off the bat, and not good.)  

Then it gets a little rocky as I head into the 3rd, 4th and 5th chapters. I wade through the next few chapters trying to salvage pieces and knowing there is still a small bit of potential. By the eighth chapter, I realize there are so many varying plots and cheesy characters that the whole thing needs a rewrite. But now I am in March, I suddenly stop. I need to start planting an indoor garden that will bloom and thrive, so that in May I am ready to plant the outside flower and vegetable gardens. 

I look at my notes and the a revised outline and get weary. Soon somehow those pages get lost in piles of other papers as summer hits. They collect dust. 

In August,  I think, "Hey, wasn't I working on that old book." I dig through piles until I find it. I say to myself, "This is the year. No excuses."

 But the cold blows the long summer days away and as the days shorten, I realize, I need to start working on Christmas.   

Before I know it, the year is gone, and the same longing to work on my Colorado Book permeates. 

I hate to say it, but I feel it right now, deep in my bones. That book has been a good friend to me. Maybe that is what I miss  . . . that friendship. There were many friends, daughters and sisters that helped me with that book. Giving their comments and advice. 

Maybe it isn't the characters in that book at all that draws me to work on it. Maybe it's the closeness of the people that used to corroborate with me on it. Maybe it is those friendships that have changed that I miss. Maybe I think of them with a longing of  the past. Opening the Colorado book is like opening back that period in time when family and friends were very close to me.  

For my days vanish like smoke; my bones burn like glowing embers. My heart is blighted and withered like grass; I forget to eat my food. Psalm 101:3-4