Back where you came fromby Charity Tahmaseb
A week ago yesterday, I finished--that should be finally finished--the novel I’ve been working on for nearly two years. Two years is long time to spend on anything, and this particular book took more blood, sweat, and tears than I ever imagined it could.
It grew out of frustration with the market at the time, all this emphasis on Chick Lit, on “women’s” stories, and I simply couldn’t relate. When I was twenty five, I was lugging around a rucksack, not a Prada or Kate Spade purse. I wore combat boots, not Manolo Blahniks.
Clearly, I knew nothing about being a woman in today’s world.
Which is why I wrote the book. Instead of making it contemporary, I used the timeframe of the fall of the Berlin Wall to the Black Hawk down incident in Somalia. Instead of three best girlfriends, I gave the heroine three best guy friends. And she spends a great deal of time muddy and appallingly un-bathed.
In other words, I went home. And when I wrote those final words last week, I felt an immense sense of satisfaction. Right before the panic hit.
I don’t have another project cued up. I got nothing. For the first time in a long time, I don’t have anything to work on. And that’s a very strange feeling.
Then I remembered. I needed to go home, back where I came from, and for I think all of us in the Wet Noodle Posse, that would be reading, movies--stories of all kinds. What enticed us to write in the first place was a love of stories.
So I’ve indulged in Firefly and Serenity. I have Sense and Sensibility on CD ready for my commute next week. I have a huge to-be-read pile I can’t wait to dive into. I need to fill myself with new places and ideas, new worlds and new points of view.
When the time is right, I’m sure the words will come. At least, I hope so. But at least the wait will be pleasant, back where I came from.