I really do try to make the best of things. This is partially because I'm Southern and just really loathe to say anything bad about anyone. For example, if I know someone who is a big whore I don't say, "Bless your heart, you're just a big whore." Because, really. Is that nice? It's not. So I just say, instead, "Bless your heart, you're just a penis enthusist." That sounds a lot better, doesn't it? And that's what it's all about. Being better. Being nicer.
Part of it has nothing to do with being Southern. It just has to do with being decent. I want to make things okay, even when they are so beyond not okay that I can't even begin to fathom how to make them okay again. Somehow I feel that my want can be so strong, so powerful, that it can make everything okay.
I'm also a grown-up, and know that's not really true. I can't really make everything okay, just by the power of my wishes. Not even with hard work, sometimes.
Thus, a crossroads.
I have to decide if I'm giving up on the sequel to my book.
In some ways it makes sense. It's not like I couldn't write other things. I have lots of stories, some true and some not. There are other things for me to say.
But in other ways, it feels like giving up on something that, for a brief moment anyway, gave me a lot of joy.
I don't know what to do.