I’m writing a new book. It’s not as new as it once was. In fact, I’m starting to feel as though I’ve been writing the same new book forever. It’s still just scribbles in a notebook. There are more scribbles than there were a few months ago so… progress. I guess that’s good.
But I’m making progress towards that moment when I put down my pen and realize my finished book still needs a title and a cover and a blurb and editing and formatting and… what it needs more than anything is a title. Of course I know that every book needs those things. When I say I realize it, I mean I come to the moment I realize I can no longer put off working on the title and the cover and the rest and the title.
And of course I know that moment is coming. All this talk of realizing things I already know is kind of like poetic license, inasmuch as poetic license is like whining. I don’t have any idea what to call the book. While that does bug me, I’ve been in this situation enough times to be confident I’ll think of a title I like in the end. So I’m not really whining about it. I’m pretending to whine, which is also sort of like poetic license.
Maybe because it was another way to continue putting off thinking of a title, I decided to research poetic license to determine if someone who is not and never will be a poet is allowed to claim it. The [already proven unreliable on several occasions] dictionary I grabbed because it was handy had no entry for the term. (Later, I will research the definition of research.) I did notice the nearby entry to poetic gives the definition as imaginative.
This is where everything comes together. Given that whatever title I eventually choose will be poetic (because it will come from my imagination), I therefore have the license to claim that nothing in this post is actually nonsense after all. Too bad I was aiming higher than “not nonsense.” Let me go look up entertaining.