This morning I informed my Dad that I was planning to change one scene at the end of my book. I was about to explain why I was changing the scene and that the main reason had something to do with some changes I was making in the second book, when my Dad gave me that look of confusion and said, "Are we talking about the same book?"
"What?"
"I don't remember that scene."
"It was at the end of the book. You know... the climax?"
"Are you sure it was in there?"
I went and looked at my copy of the book, and it was there. Then I went and looked at his copy of the book, and it was there as well.
He looked at the pages and said, "Oh yes, now I remember. I thought the ending was appropriate."
Okay, on one hand I'm inclined to write off the entire review of my ending as something pre-Alzheimeresque. On the other hand, perhaps my ending is so bad that its quickly forgotten. Can you see what being a writer does to you? Its not that I've become paranoid, its that I've become prone to paranoia. I can't simply take the approach that one person didn't remember the ending, but that it's probably the person's fault. I have to take the approach that someone didn't remember the ending, therefore my book is a complete and utter failure and I have to rethink this entire writing thing (or fix the book, yet again).
Is it any wonder that so many writers end up in mental institutions? I swear I'm going to quote Billy Joel on the inside cover of my book whenever its published.
"Son, I believe this is killing me."
Piano Man
Billy Joel
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