What Does Not Kill Me...

I wrote a post a few weeks ago about my greatest writing fear – not being able to write.  And yes, that idea still terrifies me.  But as I look back on the past few weeks, I realize that this is something I’ve just lived through. 

You see, one of the reasons this terrifies me is because for the past three years I have not stopped writing.  My mind is always, always busy.  And writing totally feeds that, and feeds off of it.  This is one of the reasons I love it so much.  While on vacation, I jot down ideas, do research, and sometimes even write or revise entire chapters.  On weekends, I read research books and take notes.  While my kids are skiing, I sit in the lodge (with my coffee and cinnamon roll) and revise.  I mull over ideas while I drive and shower and cook and try to fall asleep.  My kids made up a club during the summer.  It’s the MWTM club – Mom Writes Too Much.

Ouch.

But I worry that even pausing for a moment, inertia could extinguish the creative fire.  I feel like a writing shark – if I stop, I die.  (And yes, Bret, I totally stole that from your favorite Glee quote.)  I do spend time doing other things, and I do enjoy other things, but I have to write.  Something.  Every day.  And not writing is a symptom of a terrible evil -- writer's block.

I sent in a (very) rough draft of Book 2 to my editor at the beginning of October.  And immediately dove into research for Book 3.  I wrote the synopsis.  I wrote the first five pages.  But because I have such a difficult time switching gears, I held off writing too much.  So I also took down ideas for revision. I went through the Letters and Papers of Henry VIII in painstaking detail to make sure I got all the locations and characters correct.  I got my first pass pages for GILT, spent a week on them, and then...stopped.

Cue Katy, paralyzed.

I literally did not know what to do next.  It was like that point in the middle of a novel where you pause over the keyboard and pause and pause and pause because you don’t know what happens next.  What happens next? Push on through Book 3 even if I don’t have the voice right?  Take my own notes for revision on Book 2, even though I don't know what my editorial letter will say?  I was like a great Pushmi-pullyu, completely unable to move forward on anything.

Veronica said to enjoy it.  The peace.  The calm before the deadline storm.  Get some other things done – Christmas shopping, family time, cooking.  And I totally get that.  I could subscribe to it.  But there’s this terror that if I stop, I die. 

And then Thanksgiving came.  And I purposefully focused on not writing.  I played Monopoly with my kids.  I went shopping (not on Black Friday, are you kidding??) with my mom.  I talked books with my dad and showed off my ARCs.  I watched Lark Rise to Candleford with my husband.

I relaxed.

I still don’t know when I’ll revise Book 2.  I’ve re-started Book 3 and remember why first drafts are so bloody difficult.  I still have research to do.  But somehow, it all seems easier.  I don’t know what happens next.  But that’s OK.

I’m still afraid I’ll lose my momentum.  I’m still afraid I don’t have another book in me.  I think these fears will always be there.  But I’m also afraid I’ll lose touch with the real, as Donna mentioned yesterday.  I need to find the balance.  And last week helped.  I think that’s why I’m telling you this.

I didn’t write last week.  And it didn’t kill me.  How's that for balance?