Last semester I met my Bob. You know the guy–the one who makes your blood boil and who confirms in you every insecurity that he can dig up from the place you bury them inside your gut.
The letting go part is hard because Bob is now one part reality, three parts everything he represents. And it’s hard to combat your own mental image of somebody.
I thought I had let it go. I really, really did.
The good news is that I read somewhere this week that maybe I can take that energy and focus it onto somewhere productive.
Kate DiCamillo did a pep talk for NaNoWriMo a couple of years back describing her Bob and emphasizing how he lit a fire under her to write…
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