The thermometer in the car read 101 degrees before I got here. The sun shines directly in my face. I've been staring at this blank piece of paper and it's so hot. For months now I've been trying to write a new proposal (or query) for Bar Fight and I just can't do it. A one page letter telling what the novel is about, what it is like, who wants to read it and why? Why am I qualified to write it (am I qualified to do anything? Am I capable?) Why do I do this? One page. As I sit in a fold up chair in the middle of a blank field at South Park, in the real world, back in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, back in 2012, I can't do it. I've tried procrastinating. I've planned it all out, to shift my focus elsewhere, but I just cant do it, I can't find the spark. What does it mean? What is this about? The hook? It's been three years since I finished now, two since I finished Bar Fight. Did I tell you that the entire timeline of Bar Fight is out of order. So is the timeline of my life. It's fragmented. Fragmented… Why did I need that sentence? My sunglasses are tangled in my hair. This cloud passes in front of the sun, it's getting cooler. Where am I? I wrote another one months ago, it was good, I told myself I had to write two good ones before I sent one out. My mind distracts itself, this heat, why two? That's the plan. I convince myself the first one is risky, that's procrastination. It's so hot. Why do I do this? It's one page, do I sleep tonight or will I sweat, stare at the ceiling? Is time lost wasted or redeemable? What am I doing?
How did I lose myself to Bar Fight?