Part of me just wants to hope beyond all hope. It feels like a hint of success, or just the completion of a few meaningful tasks and I can break away from all the anguish and hand-wringing and in-my-own-head bullshit.
Part of it knows that it’s the association with this novel I’m writing that’s got me thinking about it all.
It’s hard to write about depression without thinking about your own. It’s hard to write a character, in first person point of view, thinking about all the reasons he has to be depressed, many of them general or at least broadly applicable to most or specifically applicable to me, and not buy into it a little.
As dark as this is, I think it’s still well done. I believe it will be appreciated by anyone who can look beyond its surface bleakness, though its actual message remains concealed until the end.
That’s the part I’m trying to focus on. That’s the part I’m trying to hang on to.
While the book is ultimately a tragedy, as with any good tragedy, it comes with a moment of clarity, a message that can live on despite the unfortunate circumstances. Romeo And Juliet is about love. Even if the main characters die, their love lives on. Ned Stark may bite the bullet at the end of the of A Game Of Thrones, but the message of honour and power still weaves through.
That’s what I’m hoping for here. Maybe it’ll save a life or two. Maybe it’ll save me.
One can only hope.