I Hope It Comes

I had a writing afternoon yesterday. I didn’t do much writing, though. Just a few corrections here and there. For the most part I was reading through what I’ve written, making notes on each chapter, so that I’ll remember- or have hopes of finding out- what I’ve written so far.

I recently finished reading a book that has done me the wonderful favor of showing me Much of What I’m Doing Wrong. (Note I don’t say it showed me All I’m doing wrong. I should be so lucky….) And having read that, returning to my writing (as, say, a dog returns to its vomit), was a Nightmare. In short, it is Bad. Very, very Bad, and my only hope is in the fact that I am Far From Finished.


Here’s the truth: I can’t really write. No, not really. Well, maybe I can in the way of the author I just finished reading (and I thank this person, really I do, namelessly, for showing me the Error of My Ways), but not in the way of Mann or Eliot (heavens!) or, even, Fitzgerald. Certainly not like my dear Annie (Dillard, that is). And it’s not that I expect Ever to be That Good, but one hopes– believe me– for Something Better than what I’ve just read. One hopes.

As ever, I find myself again envying the poets and lyricists who, in my experience, write Short Things. That seems so wise to me. And utterly impossible. And not just because I am, as evidenced in this blog, verbose. It is impossible also because I am not a good enough writer to be a poet.

Sigh, again.

So I leave you with something good, something I didn’t write: some lyrics of a song I recently discovered. Ah! to be able to write like this.


That barren July
we both wake up so dry
that no more tears can leave us.
And all we’ve found
are roads we can’t go down
as on a day we can’t see.
I hope it comes I hope that water comes
and drenches us in our clothes
The world that night had seen the greatest light
Too much light to deny

You never know
you never really know
You can’t have people figured out.
One friend came in
out of nowhere with lit
sparklers in both her hands for me
and saved the day
when I had run away
to envy and black feelings.
And the world at night could see the greatest light
Too much light to deny

Innocence Mission

3 thoughts on “I Hope It Comes

  1. I know the feeling, Rebecca. At the same time, Tracey and I have been privileged with more than one of your literary diamonds in recent months. You may need to remove more of the “rough” from around the gems you’re currently working with, and the particular settings in which you place them will undoubtedly take considerable work, but I know the jewels themselves are really there. Can’t wait to see ’em for ourselves someday, when you’re willing to share . . .


  2. Perhaps you should think of the time factor. As in the people you mentioned spent most of their day writing – everyday writing – for many many hours. (And then in the evening they got drunk and high – ok maybe that was only Fitzgerald but there are several other authors you did not mention who are good and would fit into the drunk or high category) The point I am trying to make is that it is all about revision. They spent years on some of their writing and I am sure they were still not pleased with it. So you who does not spend all day everyday writing – and revision in your head does not really count – will just have to be patient with the process. You are a wonderful writer. Just remember Patience. It will all come back and be beautiful and worth it. (oh and a little bit of wine never hurts)


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