Yesterday was one of those days that confirmed it. As I was backing down a very steep drive way, I drove the back tire over a curb and off the edge. We were all safe, but the car was stuck. Like this- Ok, not that bad, but it was still scary.
I tried to put it in first and drive it back over the curb and up the hill, but when I did, the wheels only made a hideous screeching sound and the tires smoked. I did this a few times and my friend even tried pushing the car, but it was no use. I was stuck.
As I stood there in the rain waiting for the tow truck to arrive, feeling humiliated and angry, I had an "ah-ha" moment: I am the car..well, my writing is. Let me explain.
In my writing, I have backed myself over a curb and am hanging off a cliff, helplessly stuck. No matter how I try to move those wheels and make progress on my book, all I get is some hideous screeching and smoke.
Now, in my defense, this has been a busy time. We are managing the apartments we live in and my husband is planning to start law school in the fall , so we are in the middle of deciding where we want to live for the next three years, and I very little time to write, but that feels like a pretty poor excuse. And is it even the lack of time that is hindering me? Or is it just time to move on to a new idea?
I guess, for now, I am just waiting for that tow truck to come and pull me over the edge. That magical beautiful "muse tow truck"