I’ve been busy the past few days finishing a story that’s long overdue for its journey out into the world. I’ve re-read, re-written, edited and re-edited to the point where I think I’m doing the piece more harm than good. I’ve spent 1 ½ years working on a 4,000 word short memoir/essay; I am out of my frickin’ mind.
Well, I finally let it go yesterday and yet I’m still wondering if it was the right thing to do. I wasn’t 100% satisfied with it.
The truth is, maybe I never will be.
It’s always been difficult for me to know when a piece of writing is done. There is no formula, book or mystical trick that will ever make that decision a viable possibility. Insecurity and doubt always manage to slip a foot in the door (is that my censor?) usually sending my thought process into a literary tailspin.
I don’t plan on posting the story here because it’s too damn long for the blog.
I will tell you it’s a story about my father called “Curveball”.
The basic gist of the story involves the game of baseball.
I’ve always had a hard time communicating with my father; a problem exacerbated by Alzheimer’s. At the time, the only interest left in the man was baseball, mainly the Boston Red Sox. It was logical common ground and I could find a way to talk to him by watching the Sox and reporting back to Dad.
In the process, a funny thing happened; I rediscovered my lost love for the game of baseball and ultimately found a great way to reach my Dad.
My wife and daughters are now major league Sox fans, and that’s a beautiful thing.
In case you’re wondering, yes, I cried like a little sissy at the end of “Field of Dreams”…
A Happy St. Patrick’s Day to all!
(especially to my Madre, wherever you are)
Maireann croí éadrom i bhfad…
(a light heart lives longest)