We store our travel trailer at a local mini-storage lot. This beast sits right next to our rig. The owner and I bumped onto each other one day when we were both on the lot.
"Try not to scratch the side of my police car when you're backing that trailer into your slip," he'd joked. I told him I'd do my best not to damage the fascinating patina. He laughed, then went on. "I'll bet you're wondering why anyone would bother to store a POS like this one, right?" I demurred.
"I bought it for the engine," he said, "I was going to put it into an old Charger I was restoring; but stuff happens, and I haven't worked on that project for several years. I've held on to this baby because maybe someday I'll get back to that project...besides, I'm locked in to a pretty good rate for this space, and someday may need to move something else into it."
There are parallels, I've decided, between this little episode and the manner in which I've approached my blog over the last five months: (1) I haven't actually abandoned it, but haven't maintained it in a long time; (2) my enthusiasm for working on it has waned; and (3) the cost of keeping it in "storage" on the 'net has not been prohibitive.
The main factor driving the months of "storage" (aka neglect) can be traced back to early April, when I completed the first rough draft of the Bretz book. "Rough" is too kind a word, frankly. As I studied the pile of ghastly pages, it became clear that I'd fallen out of love with the topic. The geological aspects seemed to have some life left ini them; but the recounting of Bretz's career, both the early and late stages of it, suffered from terminal dullness. Bretz himself - as vibrant and interesting a character as any biographer could ever hope for - had become a tired and cranky old man, the kind no one wants to listen to or deal with. I could hardly bear to read it, and I could not bear to fix it. Instead, I decided to park ALL the writing, then poured my energies and intellect into enjoying to the utmost my wonderful wife and family. It was an excellent decision - this has been one of the most enjoyable periods of my life.
I've suffered from "writer's block" on more than a few occasions, and know that the only way to get past that blockage is to write on. Pound the page relentlessly enough and the muse will return. But this latest phase - this nearly total lack of vibrancy in the manuscript - is not blockage, so much as it is a loss of enthusiasm for the story. While blockage may bring a halt to the writing, it usually will not kill it completely. But, for me at least, writing requires a level of enthusiasm that is hard to describe and harder still too manufacture. And without it, the story dies.
Later this month I will spend a couple days with the draft and see how it feels to read it with an eye towards resuscitation. Fall is upon us, and Mr. Gray will soon be showing up for his five month stay. It will be easier to fight off what sometimes feels like late-onset ADHD and stay here at this keyboard by then. Perhaps I'll be able to recapture that lost enthusiasm and get back to putting an old hulk of a draft to some good use.