10 Then too, I saw the wicked buried —those who used to come and go from the holy place and receive praise[a] in the city where they did this. This too is meaningless. 11 When the sentence for a crime is not quickly carried out, the hearts of the people are filled with schemes to do wrong. 12 Although a wicked man commits a hundred crimes and still lives a long time, I know that it will go better with God-fearing men,who are reverent before God. 13 Yet because the wicked do not fear God, it will not go well with them, and their days will not lengthen like a shadow. 14 There is something else meaningless that occurs on earth: righteous men who get what the wicked deserve, and wicked men who get what the righteous deserve. This too, I say, is meaningless. 15 So I commend the enjoyment of life , because nothing is better for a man under the sun than to eat and drink and be glad. Then joy will accompany him in his work all the days of the life God has given him under the sun. 16 When I applied my mind to know wisdom and to observe man’s labor on earth —his eyes not seeing sleep day or night— 17 then I saw all that God has done. No one can comprehend what goes on under the sun. Despite all his efforts to search it out, man cannot discover its meaning. Even if a wise man claims he knows, he cannot really comprehend it.
My mission is to illustrate this passage in a way that helps readers "get" what Dr. Q is saying. The challenge is to fit it into the narrative arc of the novel AND make it funny. I also feel my self imposed deadline approaching so I'm working under pressure. That's just what I don't need. Creative writing is hamstrung when rushed. The beauty of this project has been the luxuriant ease with which I sit silently and, in a semi contemplative state, let ideas emerge.
This isn't to say the work is easy. I'm juggling 101 things in my head at once and keeping all the loose ends straight is hard work...as is avoiding mixed metaphors.
My resolve weakens in moments like this. I feel discouraged and dried up. The ideas aren't emerging. The complexity of stringing these random verses together into a plot is maddening. I've got some good ideas but there are gaps. Who is speaking? How many different ways can I have the students riff on "meaningless?" And I'm haunted by the existential angst of, "Does the world need more verbiage about existential angst?"
On the bright side: I do entertain the fantasy that once this script is finished and have drawn model sheets for the 20 main characters, I'll draw pages with superlative artiness and verve. The odds of this happening are actually quite slim since I'm not that great an artist. But in my imagination I create real arty art. It's funny how I can be enthused, discouraged, grandiose, delusional, and plum out of ideas all at once.
It's 10:25 PM, it's been a long day visiting Vicki, moving furniture for my mother, cleaning the house, and spinning my wheels with this text. Let's hope for a creative breakthrough tomorrow.
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