New Fuel
I’m walking the last steps of this journey—not the life-living
of it, but the story-telling. I spoke with one of my editors on
the phone recently—I was standing on our front porch,
kicking dead leaves with my bare feet; she was in North
Carolina, and I imagined her in her office, book-lined and
cozy. (I’ve never been in it, but I’m hoping it’s both book-
lined and cozy.) I told her that I was having a hard time
finishing the book, like every author has said to every editor
since the beginning of time. But this time it felt different to
me.
Every previous run-up to publication involved mounting
anxiety, jittery fearful energy that propelled me into a bout
of manic work and equally manic worrying. I’d tie myself
up in knots, produce pages and pages when only a new
paragraph was required, try a new recipe five times in a row,
into the middle of the night. I’ve always asked for help in a
panicky email to friends, put myself on lockdown, canceled
plans.
This time is different, though: the struggle is not
managing the anxiety and the fear. I’m struggling instead to
drum up the necessary energy to finish, because I’ve always
been fueled by fear and anxiety. Once you stop using those