Here it is Wednesday. Middle of the new week. Not so much a reminder of last Wednesday and what I had not accomplished by this time last week, but another “hump day” in this week. Time enough to get more things done before the week ends on Saturday.
Today, though, comes with another disappointment: my co-author again has not written to me after another of my supplicant pleas to him to communicate. What good is a co-author who doesn’t communicate? What good is an almost-completed manuscript that hangs in limbo while two co-authors fail to complete the work for no apparent reason?
I have not been in this position before I try to tell myself, but it’s no use. The last book I wrote with another so-called co-author ended up the same way, and that work languishes unpublished and unfinished past a year now.
What is it with artists who do not complete their art? I did my work, completed my part in the writing. Can they not do the same? Do they not realize that hard-won words spilled onto monitor screens, later to be spit out onto published pages in books are worthless without readers?
Into this limbo — like climbing into bed on a cold night and feeling the cold sheets — I progress right behind my worthy work. We both lie here in wait; waiting for the covers and our body heat to bring some comfort to the frigid cotton, the “fabric of our lives.”
But, inside my blood boils for the lack of even a short message, “Sorry, I’ve been busy. I’ll get it done soon,” from my co-author. Or, “Hey! I’ve been skydiving and having so much fun that I’ve almost forgotten there is work to be done.”
Presented with this problem not of my making and going on three weeks now, I must resign myself to take action beyond another drop to my knees. I dread it. I will have to resort to the legalities of our Agreement terms, it seems — never mind our friendship which seems to be passing away right before my eyes. That, or lose all hope for the work ever seeing the light of day. Abortion is not good enough; nor is still-birth. My “baby” shall survive, even if I have to become a single parent!
If I have to commit murder upon a contractual relationship in order to see that my words on paper live, I will do it. Still, it makes me feel like such a criminal, albeit I am not the one committing the more-serious crime. After all, all I did was my job.
So anyway… here it is. Wednesday.
© 2013 by Ronald Joseph Kule. All Rights Reserved.