This is my last week of work and, let me tell you, the long, slow death is no fun. The shop is closing in December, but we’ve got different end dates for different groups of folks. I’m in the first wave out the door and I’m completely exhausted. With this experience, I have an inkling of what it might be like to be a celebrity.
When a new movie comes out, the stars are trotted out to make the rounds; talk shows, newspapers, magazines, radio shows, etc. Anything to promote the film. There are only so many ways to ask the same questions. How did the film turn out? Were you excited about working with so-and-so? Do you think it will do well at the box office? What projects do you have coming up next? The repetition has got to be numbing. With dozens if not hundreds of media outlets, the stars must go a little nutty at the end of a junket, regardless of how well-compensated they may be. This relates to my situation in that, as well-meaning as people may be, it’s draining to be asked the same questions over and over by everyone who stops by my desk, especially since my answers aren’t giving me any comfort. What are you going to do next? (No clue.) Any prospects? (Not yet.) Who’s going to take care of stuff after you leave? (I’m being let go. I’m not so devoted to the cause that I’m going to continue to care much after I’m shown the door. No offense.) It’s tough to keep my chin up, but I’m doing my best. Like I said, everyone’s intentions are good. That counts for a lot.
What does this have to do with the novel? Not much, except that the writing is going slowly. Painfully so. I’m looking forward to the weekend when I can put that ordeal behind me and move forward. I’m ready to scoop the junk out of my head and dig down to the gold nuggets. I know they’re in there. I can’t wait to get at them.