Reflections on the Eve of the 3 Day Novel Contest

3-Day Novel Contest

“Like an ambitious but shy fellow who is introduced for the first time to the Godfather, or a young man from the provinces at his first Parisian soirée; like a besotted admirer who encounters his Diva by chance, or a little shoemaker whose gaze meets that of the Princess, or a young author entering the temple of publishing for the first time: like them, I was petrified.” – Muriel Barbery (Gourmet Rhapsody)

I lay in bed following those nondescript globs of light that appear when you suddenly turn off your lamp and your eyes are left to adjust to the encompassing black of night. I was ruminating on the eve of the 3 Day Novel Contest, contemplating what this strange feeling is that has gradually taken over me over the course of the past week.

I have this feeling in the pit of my stomach, something akin to a knot, but not quite a knot. I’ve spent the week avoiding all thought of the event to come. I’ve gone out with friends for dinners and drinks, talked about inconsequential things, and purposely came home too tired to even think about this daunting “novel”.

Alas, tonight the journey begins, at midnight, and at the present moment in time, all I can think to do to determine what this swelling feeling inside me might be, is think of what this feeling is not…

I’ll start with the “happy stuff”. It’s not joy, or excitement. It’s not gleeful anticipation the likes of Christmas morning or one’s birthday. It’s not cosmic realization of my life’s purpose.

Nor is this feeling some of the “sad stuff”. It’s not anxiety, or second guessing. It’s not a crisis of confidence, or one of those onerous feelings that are tantamount to quitting something before you even begin.

What it comes down to, what it really is, as Barbery masterfully articulates, is the feeling of being utterly petrified; not just in the sense of fear but of feeling frozen, numb, vaccuous.

I don’t fear that I’m devoid of talent or commitment. I don’t feel like this is something impossible, something I can’t do. I just fear that what if the time comes, and I’m empty?

The knot is not a knot. It’s a hole.

Dear God, I hope it fills up.