The End of the World

I’ve never been a big fan of zombie apocalypse stories, and I am probably even less of one now that I’ve been given a glimpse of civilization-halting power of a pandemic. I don’t need much help imagining the end of world. In fact, I made a habit of it for many, many years, though in my nightmares “the world,” as I understood it, did not end because of an over-heated planet or an undead contagion. No, the world that ended was more personal than that, and it always ended for the same reason: failure.

As a writer, your world can end many times depending how you define failure. My definition shifted with my mood, but a run of rejection letters would usually do the trick. I’d sit in some lonely chair holding the latest one, and as I looked at my future, I saw only a ghost town of my potential: the closed shops and silent streets, traffic lights blinking at empty intersections, broken cars covered in a snowfall of dust. I didn’t want to live there, and yet at that moment the future I was imagining felt as real and present as the chair where I sat.

Except I could also feel something missing from that ghost town, something more than an empty well of opportunity. A true ghost town is an abandoned idea, a location that can no longer serve the people who would live there. I thought I was looking forward, but I was actually seeing a dwelling from which I had already moved on. Life always teaches, with every acceptance and rejection, every kiss and every goodbye, every dream and nightmare. I cannot unlearn what I’ve been taught, and so I have to follow where the learning leads me.

Before long, I’d lose sight of that ghost town. You really have to stare at it to keep it in your view, squinting into the distance as you walk backwards. I was moving again without realizing it, supported and pulled by a creative force immune to the pinprick of other people’s opinions. My eyes readjust as I turn my head, and there’s the world again, full of stories and readers, full life that cannot be extinguished by something as flimsy and temporary as fear.

If you like the ideas and perspectives expressed here, feel free to contact me about individual coaching and group workshops.

Fearless Writing: How to Create Boldly and Write With Confidence.
You can find William at: williamkenower.com