I find great joy in finishing one project and starting another. The satisfaction of completion of a work and the pleasure in beginning a new one with a clean slate combine to make it one of my favorite times in my writing life.
The latest project that is nearly finished is my historical fiction novel about Desert Steve Ragsdale. By the time it is published, it will be five years of work, from the first idea (as I walked around the ghost town of Desert Center, curious about its history) to the final read-through before sending it off to the publisher. Research took most of that time, as I wanted to have a good handle on the history, the people involved, working knowledge of such subjects as life in Kansas in the late 1800s, the Spanish Flu epidemic, World War I, the great depression, World War II, technological advantages over the century that the novel covers, and so on. The actual writing of the first draft and the six or seven subsequent rewriting and editing took about a year.
There is a contented sense of satisfaction that five years of work is now essentially finished. At this point I often think, I should take a break. Enjoy the fruits of my labors, take some time off writing, and rest in the knowledge that I finished when I sent out to do in the way I intended to do it.
Yet, inevitably, at this point I feel a drive and an excitement to move onto the next project, as I’m writing a novel, I am still thinking of other ideas for books, and eventually one of them will begin to coalesce and into the next project. So there is never a time when I am a bit lost, wondering what comes next. I think it is also that for the past year I have been writing and editing, the tasks of research and outlining and brainstorming is attractive. So I begin my next book, which is tentatively entitled Seven Planets (this may end up being a trilogy, and perhaps Seven Planets will be the name of the series and not the title of the first volume.)
It occurred to me that these endings and beginnings could also be applied to life. It might be personal projects, but could also be stages of life. Going to college, getting a new job, marriage, losing a job, divorce, or a move… anything where the comfort of a particular setting and routine is changed, and perhaps significantly changed. For some of these we would certainly be excited: a new job or a new love interest. But other transitions can be painful: the death of a loved one, a divorce, losing a job, and so on.
It is often said that “change is the only constant.” When it is moving from one joyful period to another joyful period, it is probably pretty easy to be excited even if we are a bit nervous. But sometimes moving from one to another is because of loss or pain. Perhaps as we work through suffering, loss, and pain, we can also be looking forward to the clean slate before us. There are possibilities and opportunities and surely many things that we have not even thought of or conceived of yet. Maybe we can find joy and excitement in the completion of one thing in the beginning of another, appreciating the past for its lessons and experiences, but focusing forward to new experiences and lessons.
As I grow older I believe that it is important to occasionally reinvent ourselves. Take stock of what is working and what is not, of what is still living in vibrant and what has become stale and calcified. It might be a reinvention of one area of our life, but it could be a complete reinvention. I think we gain strength, knowledge, and wisdom when we take such steps.
So, from one of my favorite films:
“All wrapped up here, sir. Will there be anything else?”
“You know what to do.”
“The Clean Slate Protocol, sir?”
“Screw it, it’s Christmas. Yes, yes.”*
Creation begins.
Desert. Sun. Sand. No roads or human settlements within fifty miles in any direction. The perfect place to found a town?
That’s what Steve Ragsdale believed. So he and his wife bundled up their four kids in their 1915 Ford Model T, bought a local prospector’s shack and well, and built a fuel station (50-gallon drum), a repair garage, and café. He advertised “Free food on days the sun doesn’t shine” and “No drunks, no dogs—we prefer dogs.” He was the owner, sheriff, rockhound, author, naturalist, desert guide, and Santa Claus at Christmas.
He became one of the local “desert rats” and earned the moniker “Desert Steve.” Along the way, he became part of history: the Colorado Aqueduct, the construction of the first State and National highways, the invention of prepaid healthcare, General Patton and World War II, the largest iron mine in the United States, flying saucer sightings, murder, and much more.
Based on a true story, this is the tale of a quirky, clever, and bold man who pursued a dream, wrote bad poetry, and found ways to survive when many would have perished or packed it in.
Discover more from Markus McDowell, author
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