The Elusive Art of Giving Up

I hate giving up.

I mean, really hate it. Even if not giving up is the sole reason for continued failure, I have a hell of a time doing it. My music "career" being the prime example. Fifteen years of "I'm gonna make it happen" accompanied by fifteen years of, you know, not really trying. Though, deep down, I knew from an early age that being a musician wasn't the right path for me, walking away from it, was giving up. Thus, it wasn't an option.

Crazy talk, I know. But that's how this old brain works.

Lately, I've noticed that it's hard for me to give up control of a story to the characters, those which need to tell it. By letting the characters tell the tale, I feel like I'm quitting somehow, which is absurd. I'm getting better as I go, but when I think I've finally given up control, given in, given the story to the characters, I read a book or story from someone else and quickly realize that I haven't. Not yet. I'm still there, giving my two cents.

It's an odd thing, really, because the characters are, in a sense, me. But I still want to play, you know. Look at me! Look at me! I want to inject my thoughts and opinions, because I don't want to give up control—I don't want to quit fighting for it. Though in perpetuating the act, I'm failing. Over and over again.

I'll give in, someday. It's only a matter of time. Hopefully, for my sanity's sake, it doesn't take fifteen years.