"It's like this when you live a story: The first part happens fast. You throw yourself into the narrative, and you're finally out in the water; the shore is pushing off behind you and the trees are getting smaller. The distant shore doesn't seem so far, and you can feel the resolution coming, the feeling of getting out of your boat and walking the distant beach. You think the thing is going to happen fast, that you'll paddle for a bit and arrive on the other side by lunch. But the truth is, it isn't going to be over soon.
You look back at the beach and can't see your umbrella, and your hotel is a quarter mile behind you.
The reward you get from a story is always less than you thought it would be, and the work is harder than you imagined. The point of a story is never about the ending, remember? It's about your character getting moulded in the hard work of the middle."
Had someone told me the mental tenacity and resilience, the grunt work, the asses and elbows mentality it would take to keep paddling when there's no sight of a shore anywhere than maybe I wouldn't have started.
Which is why no one tells you that.
It makes sense.
But in the same breathe, thank God I did. I cannot unearth the belief that this is what I'm supposed to be doing, however hard I try to mine that sucker out from the depths.
So it's a funny, shake-your-head, big sigh kind of balance.
This "What the H--- am I doing?!" grasping panic and the absolute sureness to "Try again. And again. And again."
I stand in the absolute sureness as I re-launch Dani Press with a new logo, new site, new branding, new everything. It's a renovation to this ol' ship that's been a 5-month labour of love and it's something I'm really, really proud of.
It reflects where I was, how far I've come and where I am now.
And where am I now?
Still in the middle, just in a nicer ship.