When I began writing, my first editor warned me that there would be ups and downs. “Some days you get the bear,” she said, “some days the bear gets you.” In my nearly 30 years as a professional writer, I’ve written 23 books and too many columns and and articles and posts to count. On the Internet, everybody is a published author, and the ether is crammed with words, ideas, opinions and messages. No one can keep track of it.  I have no illusions that my work will stand out in the vast digital archives of the future, up in the Cloud and out into the universe. I love what I do, but history suggests that I am part of a dying, or at least radically evolving, breed.

Still, I can never express my gratitude for my life as a writer, meaningful and satisfying beyond measure, for all the rejection, confusion, and just plain hard work. Somebody asked me the other day if I had plenty of money, would I ever think of retiring? No, I said. No trouble answering that. No even on a day like today. Today, the bear got me.

I don’t believe in writer’s block and am rarely stumped, but this month I have taken on a difficult thing, and I am mightily struggling with it. I am writing the story of me and Simon, and I have chosen to try and tell at least part of the story through Simon’s eyes, and in his own words. For someone who argues all the time against putting words in the mouths of animals, this is a challenge. Beyond that, it is a challenge to give voice and personality to a donkey. My editor is understandably wary of this effort, my agent thinks it’s a great idea.  I am determined to try it. I want it to be great. There is a rich trove of donkey-human literature and I want to add to it. I’ll offer a few chapters and we will see what happens. The book opens with Simon being rescued on the farm where he nearly perished.

Sometimes I think I always have to take the most complicated route.

For five days now, I have been wrestling with the first chapter. I pride myself on structure and forward motion, but I am bogged down a bit. Tossing in too much donkey history. A friend who read my chapter said it was all over the place. Maria said Simon’s voice is stiff. An editor friend said she is glad it is a struggle, it would be weird if such an ambitious effort popped out the first time. I am spoiled, she said, used to just cranking my books out. I sit staring at the monitor. Go out and visit Simon. Walk the dogs. Circle the room. Meditate. Brood and complain, stir in the night. I want to call out for help, but there is really nobody to call. I have to figure it out.

I really like this idea. I really want to make it work. I have to change my habits, take my time, think and feel it. This is not something i have often had to do. Perhaps it is about time. Tomorrow, I hope to get up early. I hope to get the bear.