Haunted by Potential

It started in June of 2021. I was visiting the beautiful Blue Ridge Mountains in Southwest Virginia, where my mother-in-law is from. One night during my stay, after a few glasses of wine, my mother-in-law and her cousin decided it would be a good idea to show me the Haunted Graham Mansion.

On the way there, they told me the lore of the building, its history with slavery and the American Civil War, and different stories about vengeful ghosts that haunt the halls. When we were close to the mansion, the lights in the car started to flicker. It completely spooked me. My mother-in-law and her cousin were laughing their asses off. And to this day, they swear up and down they weren't doing anything to the car to make it flicker.

It was around midnight when we arrived at the building. While we stood there looking upon the massive building in the dark, I saw what I thought were two figures standing on top of a hill. To be fair, I wasn't wearing my glasses, and I had consumed a few glasses. However, the mixture of the flickering lights and the mere thought that two specters were gazing upon us from the top of a hill had me reeling.

We drove back, and eventually I went to bed. That night, I dreamt of the two figures on the top of the hill. Not as evil spirits trying to hurt me, but as two souls seeking justice for their murder. This dream, this thought, took root, and I started writing my first book.

I am still writing that book. Off and on. 5 years later.

When I started writing the book, I was in graduate school. I used the combination of those two facts to buy a new MacBook. I figured an upgraded device would be just what I needed to be motivated to finish a project of this magnitude because previously I only ever wrote short stories and poetry.

The MacBook helped. Briefly. Within 2 days, I wrote 20,000 words. Then I completely fell off.

That same summer, my partner and I started looking at homes in Southwest Virginia. I figured immersing myself in the landscape for which the story is written would help with my writing process (though that wasn't the only reason we moved; I would be lying if I said it wasn't an underlying motivator). We closed on the house we live in now in September of 2021 and moved in after renovations that November. Once we were settled, I was inspired to write, but the writing wasn't coming nearly quickly enough.

I started working full-time in January 2022, and my writing went on the back burner shortly after that. I didn't end up finishing the first full draft of the book until after I got laid off from my first degree-adjacent job in February of 2023.

The layoff was completely devastating, and I threw myself into my creativity to keep sane. It ended up being exactly what I needed to cross the finish line with my novel. I believe my first draft was only around 50,000 words, which is too short, but the idea was "complete" start to finish.

That summer, I sent the book out for beta readers to get secondary opinions on the narrative. I got some great feedback, both positive and constructive. But the best piece of feedback I received was utterly scathing. To paraphrase, it was something along the lines of, "The ending made the entire story worthless and made your main character seem stupid."

I'm keeping the original ending but adding onto it. And the addition changes things completely. It makes for a better story; there's no doubt in my mind about it. I know exactly what's supposed to happen. I have it completely mapped out. But I cannot bring myself to write it.

In lieu of writing the ending, I have rewritten the story from start to almost finish 4 times. Which means it's now been officially 5 years since I started this story, and it's not finished. It's tweaked, rewritten, improved in some ways, potentially made worse in others. It's an amalgamation of the younger, more naive writer I was when I started it and the more mature writer I'm turning into every day. And I'm absolutely terrified to finish it.

The idea of touching it again feels like a monumental obstacle. I have extensive notes on what's wrong with it, how it can be improved, how I can make it more cohesive... I know exactly what needs to be done, but I consistently come up with excuses for why I'm not ready for it. Perhaps it's the time. Perhaps it's the effort. But more realistically, it's this deep-seated fear of failure.

If I sit down and really put the work in. If I do everything I know I need to do with it. If I truly finish this book and turn it into what it's meant to be. That means I have to put this idea I've been nursing for 5 years out into the world to be consumed, judged, and potentially hated. Even worse than that, there is the possibility that I query this story and never, ever get an agent to pick it up.

As long as this story remains unfinished, it remains perfect in its potential. To finish it is to risk mediocrity. The ghosts haunting this story aren't standing on a hill in Southwest Virginia; they're embedded within my own ego. It's me choosing the safety of a permanent draft over the horrifying reality of a finished failure.