The Constant Agitation of Fiction

I often feel the pull of the written word, encouraging me to read and write fiction far more than I have time for. Yet I have so many stressors in my life, pulling me in all directions, halting my efforts and sapping my strength. It is all I can do to put a few words down on paper for a book chapter I am working on or scribble a few notes for my movie list. I write this from the standpoint of finishing my doctoral dissertation in the spring, teaching the equivalent of six courses, and trying my best to seek tenure.

During these rough spells, I have been trying to read fiction and slowly writing a little. Someday I hope to get back to my manuscript and at least finish one novel or a few short stories or pull a few more of my grey hairs out. I take comfort in the fact that many are late bloomers to this fiction game. However, I have been writing fiction for more than two decades and have never taken it all that seriously. It is a given, but there is something to be said for sitting down and creating a story, a series of vignettes, the entire life histories of a group of characters, and a world that would cease to exist if I stopped writing.

Reading fiction also relieves my stress because it is so different from my day-to-day job of grading papers and writing about film and music. It seems to be a break, but it always draws me in, perpetually having the power to enthrall me as I turn away from politics and the banality of the internet. I know that someday when the articles and applications are behind me, I will finally finish the novel and read a ton more carefully-crafted, or even hastily written novels and short stories. I constantly agitate just like they do.

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