Losing hold of the story

I feel like I lost hold of the story somehow, like I can't continue the one I began. I feel the urge to relegate this first, early draft of something called Last American Childhood to to the box of old papers Eli and I had once begun to write and assemble and call the Parts I Haven't Read, a name given to us in the Plough and the Stars by my then sort of mentor, Mark Sternman. I hesitate to write even this, because I fear it would appear as if I want all the ridiculing imaginary readers to write in and say, “Keep going. We want to find out what happened next.” So that’s the holding pattern I am in now, a bit frustrated, all the while advising others that holding patterns are sometimes okay. I'll close the comments, just so there's no pressure at all to write in and respond. 

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