Just finished another round of emails, and a blog post on my other site. Staring at a screen capture of one of my favourite wrestlers, and thinking. Thinking about something I read about him online and was thrown back to a conversation I've had so many times over the years about so many different men.
That they are never the man we think they are.
Or more likely, never the man we wish that they were.
We put a lot of pressure on the men in our lives. No matter if they are our mates, our relatives, our friends or just our favourite celebrity, we pile all this hope on them and then when they can not live up to our romanticized version we blame them when we should be rethinking our own self.
I've talked on here before about my novel a little and how it's giving me heartburn as of late.
I think part of that is that I lost the love I had for the man who was my main character base. The guy that I physically modeled my lead after.
I just don't love him anymore.
I find everything that he does now painful to hear and there is little respect left for him. Unfortunately that's translated over to my novel. I've lost interest in my fictional version as well.
Basically, my lead character is not the man I thought he was. And like the real man he's modeled after, I have no idea how to deal with that realization.