It's that time of year up here in the land of beer and cheese. The boys and girls in the blaze orange hit the woods and the deer start to lose their minds. And, if my drive home from Milwaukee from a fantastic book conference last weekend was any indication, deer have not evolved enough to gauge the speed of 4000 pound hunks of metal rolling along at 80 miles per hour. I started counting the deer along side the road, but lost count somewhere around Madison. So I popped in a Bob Marley CD and wondered if deer believe in everliving life and are followers of Jah. I've never seen a deer with dreadlocks, but they do eat a lot of grass.... Yes, thus are the musings of a writer alone in a car on a long road trip.
And not so unlike those deer on the side of the road, I too am on the side of the road with my current work. Meaning, I'm at a stage in the process where I think, "Who in their right mind would want to read this drivel?" Yes, I'm at the stage of Literary Road Kill. And like the deer going nuts every fall, I too know that I will go through this stage in every single novel I write. I will second guess myself. I will peer out from the bushes at the Mack trucks that scream by thinking, "Should I go now? Shit! Too late! Okay, should I go now? Will this be the right time?" To be perfectly honest, I won't ever know. Again, like the deer, I fear I will never evolve enough to figure out how to time it just right. I'm just hoping that my timing is good enough that I don't end up Literary Road Kill.