Everyone hates Chicken Little. For good reasons too. He’s annoying not only in his delivery method but also in the message.
No one wants to hear it.
But yet the sky is falling. It always has been to varying degrees.
I didn’t get the MacDowell fellowship.
Nothing ventured, noting gained Sy reminded me.
What exactly has been gained? was my response.
Another whack to an already fragile ego. Annoyance that we used up $30 that could have gone somewhere “better.” Staring at the 90,000 word high wall that is The Tome and bashing my head against it wondering how I’m going to find the time and brainspace to rip it apart and rebuild it better.
The sky is falling!
I’m never gonna finish this damn book. It’s going to be like every other piece I’ve ever written. I’m only going to get so far with it and then it’s going to get tossed into a drawer and forgotten about until the grandkids are cleaning out the house after my demise and it ends up in a dumpster.
It’s a chilly rainy night. I have a couple of hours to myself, which is rare these days. Window open, probably for the last time this year, so I can enjoy the breeze and fresh air. Bit of Irish in the hot cocoa and the Buzzccocks at an ear ringing volume.
Time to start adding a bit more to that wordy wall before I rip it apart and build it again.
Not going to be a Chicken Little
No one’s going to tell me no.
I’m just not listening.