The Pawnshop and The Ring
Writer's block, family life, and creative rebirth. A process of crafting a dark, introspective novel using AI tools and 30 years of ideas.
Life's been a whirlwind lately. In the quiet moments between family time and looming work deadlines, I've found myself getting pretty introspective. My son's been on vacation, and I've been soaking up all the time I can with him and my wife. No complaints here - just different priorities for a while.
Remember when I mentioned hitting that wall with my writing? Well, I've finally broken through. For a while there, I wasn't enjoying it much. But I knew it was time for a change, to get that spark back. At the end of the day, all I want to do is create something every day. That's what makes me tick.
Today was a big win - I wrote 1000 words for the book. That's huge for me, especially since I know work's about to kick into high gear. So I'm trying to dive into those blank pages while I can.
I'm looking back at ideas I've been collecting for 30 years, connecting them to my own past and how I'm feeling now as the story unfolds. It's messy, but it's intriguing to see patterns emerging and the story getting tighter as I go along.
I'm also using Midjourney to create images that capture the feel of the book. I'm getting better at it, but sometimes it takes an excruciating amount of time to get an image that fits what I had in mind. AI's helpful, but it's still just a fancy computer program. “IT” does not feel, not yet at least.
Just a heads up, this excerpt is pretty dark and gloomy. That's just how this part of the story goes.
It's a room of about 8 square meters.
On one side of the counter, there's an old man with hair sticking out of his nostrils.
He has a small lens in his left eye while squinting his right eye, focusing on a ring he's observing through an enormous magnifying glass illuminated by a light.
My brother clings to my mother's leg, saying, "Mom, I'm hungry." He's tired; I can see it in his eyes and posture. I'm sleepy, very sleepy.
The man removes the lens from his eye, handles the ring, returns it to my mother, and glances at her with disdain. His eyes seem to say, "Another story of heartbreak." He sighs deeply, looks at the ring without looking at my mother, and says, "I can't give you more than..."
My mother protests, "This ring is worth more than..."
With composure and without empathy, the man says, "The ring has marks that cannot be repaired. That's how it is."
A wave of anger seems to overtake my mother. She squeezes my hand while holding back an insult, hurting me unintentionally.
"ah!" I protest.
She apologizes, weighs the situation, looks at my brother, looks at me, returns the ring to the old man with furrowed brows, and without further words, he hands her an envelope with several bills.
We leave the room, when I look up, my mother is trying to control her crying.
My brother looks at her. "Mom, I'm hungry."