So of course there were one or two perfect days of happiness when my new project seemed shiny and simple. The story rolled out in front of me like a red carpet, just asking me to take that walk. And I’m still walking, seeing where this leads, but just ahead, right in my path, I see a thorny bush.
Sure the roses smell sweet, and their petals are soft, but I know the prick of those thorns. There are places I don’t like to go in my stories. Places too close to my own mistakes and heartbreaks. And as I’ve been working out the conflict in this new story, up turns one of the worst times of my life, asking to be taken up and picked over for the sake of fiction.
Sometimes it’s just not worth it. For now I’ve put on some sturdy gardening gloves for careful pruning. Maybe I can somehow salvage that lovely bouquet without cutting myself to ribbons in the process.