Among them are too many classics I’m ashamed to say I’ve never read: War and Peace, The Iliad, Clarissa. Then there are the classics I want to reread because I read them when I was too young, without any guidance like Moby Dick and Ulysses. And there are dozens of enticing books that are being published in droves every week, so many of which I would love. Long before I knew that I would have an earlier-than-expected death, I was bothered by the thought of the hundreds of books I would never read, books I wanted to read, or felt I should I should read, but understood I never would. Unless I get cracking it is likely to become another unfinished project after I’m gone.Īll my life what has kept me getting out of bed every morning is the urge to get things done, to cross things off the proverbial - or actual - list. When she leaves I slip it back into the corner. For a while I was fine working on my own after she left, but now I only work on it when she’s here, coaching and inspiring me. She’s an accomplished knitter, and she encouraged me to take on this project which is somewhat beyond my skill level. I bought the yarn and pattern when my sister was visiting. Somewhere in the corner of my living room there is a bag of knitting, containing a beautiful variegated blue shawl/scarf that awaits my attention. Contemplating this possibility has motivated me to remain laser focused. He has promised, but if he changes his mind I won’t have any say. What if I don’t have time to finish this novel and it is found - unfinished, unrevised, sophomoric - after I’m dead? The thought of people reading one of my “shitty” first drafts is chilling, and it has prompted me to extract a promise from my husband that he won’t show an unfinished work to anyone. I am working as diligently as I can on a new novel, but novels cannot be rushed, and at the end of every work day, as I lay down the unfinished manuscript, a thought haunts me. Cai Emmons on writing, life and living with ALS
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