The Story I Don’t Want to Tell (Putting a Stake in The Death Club)

The other morning I was at work, awaiting the arrival of my dairy truck, and decided to sit outside and eat some breakfast. I started thinking about my writing and why it didn’t seem like it was going anywhere. This led me to thinking about books I’ve read recently or books I’ve read throughout my life where it seemed like the author really loved the story they were telling. That’s when it hit me- The reason why my novel The Death Club isn’t going anywhere is because it’s not the story I want to tell. I’ve come to realize I don’t have an attachment to these characters or their journey like I thought I did. There’s not enough to them to make me feel like this a story that I want or need to share with the world.

One of the most important parts of being a writer, of being a storyteller, is that you’re telling stories you want to share with others. I thought about it this way- Why do we tell someone about something weird or funny or frustrating that happened to us throughout our day? It’s because in our minds, that story is one worth telling and sharing with someone else. Or in my case, sometimes I just really need to vent because I know holding all the negative energy I’m feeling inside isn’t good for me! But the point is, we all have our reasons for telling the stories we do, but we wouldn’t take the time to tell them unless they meant something to us… and right now The Death Club means nothing to me.

So for the foreseeable future, I’m putting a stake in The Death Club. I’m closing the coffin lid and allowing the story inside to desiccate. If one day I ever feel the urge to, I’ll remove the stake, open the lid, and give it some of my blood to bring it back to life… but for the foreseeable future, I don’t think that will be happening. So now I have to figure out what story I want to tell and share with the world, which is going to be an adventure all on its own.

Sad thing is, I’ve felt this way for awhile, but once again my persistence in wanting to finish a novel and my stubbornness of not giving up even when I’m unhappy bit me in the ass again. I self-sabotage way too much and I need to stop it. I also need to stop putting my time, energy, and heart into things that don’t make me happy because it leaves no room for the things that do make me happy. This year has been really rough (which I’ll do a recap of before it’s over) and honestly, I am so ready for 2022 and the chance for a fresh start.

Have you ever given up on a piece of writing that no longer made you happy? If so, did you ever pick it back up and finish it? I would love to hear your thoughts on this! Have a great weekend everyone!

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