You’d Have to Stop the World Just to Stop the Feeling

Chappell Roan gives her listeners evocative lyrics and a hooky chorus, but it’s the invitational particularity of a universal sentiment that makes “Good Luck, Babe” such a bop.

Who hasn’t felt a feeling so big, so strong, that it feels like the only way to stop it is to stop the earth from spinning? Perhaps only those who haven’t felt it yet.

For writers, the provocateur of desire is sometimes the unfinished work. It’s their Everest; their Holy Grail; their transcendent point of universal harmonic resonance. It’s a project that generates an unstoppable, unarticulatable urge driving the writer to it, or to some variation of it, again and again. And, usually, again.

Sometimes, they’ve experienced the project as the source of life-giving focus. Other times, and more often, they’ve experienced it as the source of disengaging drag.

At one or one hundred points, they’ve probably given up, locked it into a proverbial desk drawer and hoped to lose the key. Later, when that familiar feeling of desire returns, they  pick the lock, open the drawer, and unfold and uncrease the crumpled pages, to start again. And again and again and again.

Lots of writers fight this feeling, seeing a drive to repeat as a failure, or indicative of an inability to let go or move on. But what is Roan’s song if not a warning that letting go and moving on are not reliable ways to staunch desire. It’s not only not always possible to stop wanting, it’s also not always advisable.

When it comes to an unfinished writing project, the goal is not, in fact, to “be done.” No piece of important writing is ever done. Not really. Rather, the goal of the unfinished project is to motivate you to keep writing.

Our fieriest feelings of desire and electric connections can’t always be defused, despite the relief this seems like it would offer. Trying to finish is as futile as trying to stop the world from spinning. Good luck, babe.