Goals, we all have them. Reaching them, well, that's quite the conundrum. Sometimes I think its about fear. Like if we actually reach our goals, then what? I've been trying to finish rewriting my MS. I get on a roll then I just back off. It's like I'm afraid to be finished. It's so...FINAL.
Then again, maybe its what's lurking behind the finish line. Literary agents, synopsis's, and query letters. OH MY!
So, I was able to sympathize with my dog, Cooper, today. Strapping young pooch, one hundred and sixty pounds of man puppy. His goal. The bone. The conundrum? The bone was behind the door. Not a real problem you say. Ah, but hold on. The ironing board (literary agent) was behind the door. The ironing board is very scary to man puppy. It makes a loud screeching noise whenever it's approached with clothes (query letters). Apparently ironing board is particular about clothing associations. Puppy backs away from the door, paws the air, and whimpers in a whining puppy sort of chanting way, hoping to will the bone to puppy. No chance. Bone is now being held hostage by the damn ironing board, and man puppy has abandoned goals of being respectable altogether. He's spread eagle on the bed in front of the fan, showing his man goodies to the world. My God man, show some decency. This will not be me, people. I'm going to get the bone (manuscript done) for the man puppy. Hopefully, his moral code will be restored before he winds up as Mr. October. Fingers crossed.