trying

“It’s easy not to care what people say, it’s harder to pretend to try.”

—k-Os, The Love Song

Sitting here pondering the mountain of papers filling my bedroom floor, a stack of unfinished manuscripts to the left of me, a mound of finished ones to the right, it becomes overwhelmingly clear that Chara was right; I have a deep-seeded prejudice against all things happily ever after. I’ve read over five different projects from the last six years, and not a single one has a resolution which is even remotely happy. The Last Ditch, circa 1997, Marcus discovers he’s HIV positive just after Dominic realizes that he’s in love with him. It’s a Sin, circa 1998, David’s personality disorder kicks in and he kills his two best friends in a fit of rage. Fold, circa 1999, Nick just plain gives up, doesn’t even try to go after any of his goals. There was the upbeat romantic comedy Maple Leaf Tattoo (a working title) circa 2001, which was supposed to have a happy ending, I think, if I had ever gotten the inspiration to finish it. But everything else, everything since then, has always been about disappointment, unfulfilled expectations, continued longing, and just an overall sense of uneasiness.

“So what?” I suddenly say out loud, startling myself. I have this tendency to start talking to myself without realizing it, and even though I live alone, the self conscious part of me still looks over my shoulder, as though someone has heard.

But really, so what? Is it really that big of a problem? Should I just tack on a happy ending to every seventh story I write just for the sake of variety? It seems to me that you can’t force a happy ending. It’s just going to happen when it happens.