(writing)
Can I say something? I LOVE WRITING!
I’ve been MIA the last few days because I’ve been writing. Yeah. Only writing. It’s the craziest thing, too. I forgot how much I loved to write. I forgot that it’s the whole reason I started this social media, blogging, facebooking, tweeting madness in the first place.
I guess I didn’t completely forget I loved to write, I just forgot how much.
The problem was, I was stuck on a story, a sequel to Sadie. I’ve been stuck on it for awhile — years — but was determined to plow through and finish. I have readers who want to know how Sadie and her new guy’s story end — and quite frankly, so do I. With 180 pages already written, I figured I’d add another 100 to finish it off. Easy. I’d write a little, plot a little, but end up goofing around on the internet, telling myself I was ‘processing.’ In truth, I wasn’t processing. I was hanging out with all you fun, wonderful people, avoiding the beast.
In the mean time, this other story was gnawing at the back of my brain.
Is this story the same genre as Sadie, the LDS romance? No.
How about my second book, the dystopian romance? No.
It’s a different genre, different target audience, different time frame.
It’s even in first person present tense, which I’ve never, ever, not-a-single-moment-in-the-last-four-years tried. (ie: “I say,” not “Sadie said.”)
This new story couldn’t be any more different.
See why I wasn’t giving into the temptation?
But it literally wouldn’t leave my brain alone. I jotted down bits and pieces of it over the last year, but it still tormented me at night.
“Go away,” I would tell it. “I’m busy writing — sort of.”
Then my husband said something that I will love him forever for — I’ll love him forever anyway, but this certainly helped. 🙂
He said, “I thought you liked to write.”
“I do! But I’m so frustrated! I’m stuck on this part, and I’ve tried everything to push through it, and…and…UGH!”
“Then write what you want to write.”
“I can’t! I have to finish this sequel so I can get to the second dystopian book! Plus, this new book is SO different. I’m not supposed to jump genres and I already have once. I have to finish the sequel. I have to!”
“Says who?”
I thought for a minute and couldn’t answer. I don’t have a publisher asking for this sequel; I’m waiting to hear back on the dystopian book. True, I have some Sadie fans beating down my door (sort of), but I know they’re awesome and will love me no matter what I write (I hope). When I took a deep breath, I realized all the pressure was completely self-imposed.
“Says me,” I said a little sheepishly.
“Then write what you want to write.”
And so I am! I’ve written 60 pages in five days. Considering I added 15 pages to the sequel in two months, this pace is a little dizzying. But I’m having a blast! Even when I tell myself to take a forty minute break to drive my kids to school, I end up sitting in that stinking carpool line, mind racing, kicking myself for not bringing my laptop, scrambling for a stupid piece of paper, and resorting to scribbling on any and all available white space of every piece of mail.
If that’s not love, I don’t know what is.
My poor kids. My hubby, too, since he didn’t realize his advice meant he’d be stuck with cereal for dinner. I guess they’ll see me next week when I finish. By then, I hope to remember what I’ve learned:
I like to write.
Scratch that. I LOVE to write!
The ironic thing is that now I’m on fire again, I’m actually exited to get back to Sadie’s story. I will finish that sequel — probably faster than I would have before. And I’ll finish the next book in the dystopian trilogy because I’m re-excited about that one, too. Hopefully all my stories will be written someday. My husband just had to remind me that I write for me first. If a publisher happens to like it, or any of you, that’s a huge bonus — a massive bonus, but a bonus, nonetheless.
So if I’m MIA, know that I’m off in some world that doesn’t exist, hanging out with people who don’t exist, writing a story I probably shouldn’t, and having a grand ol’ time!
🙂
In the meantime, I’m giving all of you writers out there the permission my husband gave me:
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Write what you want to write!
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Have any of you had an experience like this? Or am I the only crazy one?
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