Last year, this was a time of wonder for me.
I’d finished the story that would become Kuntilanak (still for sale, still good, still a good slice of horror from across the seas), and was in the process of doing the first edit on it before giving it to the public via the self-publishing route–and learning a hell of a lot of things about self publishing alone the way. I was working on another story that would eventually become Captivate And Control (also for sale, if you like a neat little slice of adults having a bit of a go with each other, say what?), and would finish that up in the months of September and October.
To paraphrase a line from Goodfellas, it was a glorious time to be an up and coming writer who has the world ahead of them.
A year later, I’m a lot wiser, a little better with my writing, and a whole bunch of more tired.
I am getting more sleep these days, and I’m dealing with my personal issues a great deal better. The panic I felt the last few months has pretty much gone away, and I’m discovering a better balance throughout each day. Still not happy with the job, and I do wish The Undisclosed Location would just up and piss away for good. That’s not happening yet, and it may not happen any time in the near future, so right now it’s deal, deal, deal.
As for the writing . . .
It seems as if the moment I finish one story, and decide to step back so I could recharge my mind, spirit, and need to do something creative, I get hit with ideas. I have an idea for my NaNoWriMo 2012 novel. I have ideas for a new novel based on a character design I did for a writing class two years ago. I have an idea for a Halloween story a friend suggested I write. And I’m getting hit with images of an old story I started some twenty years ago, a trilogy about a ship, a mission, and a group of people who have to made a very hard decision about their duty . . .
I won’t lie: I struggled writing Diners at the Memory’s End. It was hard. It was hard trying to write while feeling as if you were going to fall asleep at any moment. It was hard writing with tension and anxiety from the moment I got up to the moment I finally crawled off to bed. It was hard writing when the words were in my mind, but my fingers just wouldn’t work the way I needed.
The story took a long time to write because I couldn’t write. It was shear will that allowed me to finish the story.
Now that it’s out of the way, is my Muse now saying, “You’ve cleared out all the crap while doing that last sucker, but lookie here, dude, I got somethin’ sweet for ya . . .” It’s strange that I was so totally blocked up with a story that I wanted to do, and now that it’s out of the way–everything is dumping on me creatively-wise.
I swear, my Muse is one jacked up creature. She whispers that I need to do things, that I need to write even when my heart isn’t in it, because . . . who the hell knows?
If I didn’t love her so much, I’d kick her ass outta my head.