On Novels and Closing Ceremonies
February 25, 2002
7:17 a.m.
As of 3:15 p.m. yesterday, the book is finished. Of course, it's not really finished-finished. It's merely done to this point. Lisa will give it another quick run-through, and I'll spend a day or three fixing typos. And assuming someone out there actually likes it, I'm sure it will see revision someplace. But I think you know what I mean.   I printed the first half of it last night before the Olympic closing ceremonies. I'm printing the last few chapters as I type this morning. What's next, you ask? Well. I've got a collaboration with a friend waiting for me to tackle. I'm going to get the stories that have been piling up on my hard drive back out into the cold-hard world. I'm going to plot my marketing scheme for this book. And I'm going to write a short story or two. Then, when I'm recharged for getting back into this world again, I'll go back and write the second book. (Those who follow me routinely may recall that I resolved issues with the first drafts of the book I just finished by cutting it down in scope. The second half is still in "first draft" form. I intend to complete it). So on this day that I finished this novel we watched the closing ceremonies. Thousands of athletes spilled into the stadium after seventeen days of competition that saw the usual episodes of heartache and joy. There was music and skating. For some reason I was most happy to see Dorothy Hamill out there on skates, though her presentation had no triples or quads or anything more than a beautiful flow to it. She skated as Harry Connick Jr. sang "Over the Rainbow," which is a cong Brigid used to bellow at the top of her lungs when she was two ... and three ... and four ... and .... She doesn't sing it now, though. Some of these athletes failed. Some of them succeeded as they planned. Some succeeded far beyond any hope they could have dared hope. Some succeeded without actually winning. Some failed, though they walk away with medals around their neck. But they all had something in common. They were all there. They had all worked hard. They had all made it to wherever they made it. And they could all be proud because in the end they had all gotten out there and done something they thought was important. Somehow, on this night of all nights--with a novel sitting complete on my hard drive--just understanding that one thing felt pretty good.  Daily Persistence is © Ron Collins |
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If we can put a man on the moon, how come we can't put a man on the moon? Bill Engfer Space Frontier Foundation |
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