It’s been almost a full year since I posted a blog. I think the reasons I gave up were not very good ones: Lazy (maybe), my previous books not having a lot of traffic (possibly) and also, no one reads my blog (assuming). But just in case anyone does, I thought it was a good time to share that 2016’s period of anxiety driven writing is here. AKA The Third Book.
When I published my first book I felt as if I were pregnant for the the first time. The initial months of creating and eventually completing can never be repeated again. The second book was like having my second child. Love, love, love it but you can’t have the exact same book pregnancy twice. And for the sequel to the first, I felt much less anxious and much more in control. So the siblings were birthed, shared with the world and now are growing side by side, and will always be my babies.
Then came the day that I got the urge. The itch or desire or whatever you might call it. I met two goals I’ve had my whole life, back to back. Do I really think I can do it again? I’m getting old. It’s always been there, the back of the brain nudge. Writing and publishing is like a drug and since I’ve never done drugs I’ll just pretend it’s like crack. Once you start it’s very hard to never relapse. I can’t just let it go. So after a couple of years of debating, I’m taking the plunge again. I hope it’s worth it.
While writing YA fiction was fun and sentimental and relatable in a fantasy boy and girl sort of way, this time around I’m gonna (it’s ok to use gonna) be a grownup. I’m taking a chance and I’m excited and filled with all these ideas and places I can take the story that I couldn’t with teens. (Translation: some bad words and other normal human behavior). I want to write a mystery since I love them. I want to write a complicated adult instead of a complicated teenager. I can take the plot in different directions that I can’t with a YA book. And since my previous books never interested one single agent, ah, maybe this one will. One can dream . . . .
It took me awhile to figure it out. Take a bad word out, put it in, make him 17, make him 25. Use big words you have to look up, use simpler words you don’t. In the end, I finally made the decision to take a risk. I’m pretty psyched about it if I can get rid of the stalled script in my head. Only a dedicated writer would take almost an hour perfecting the blurb alone. Which isn’t even important right now.
I was afraid of what people might think if my character uses the F bomb here or there. Or if his mind goes in the gutter sometimes, or if he just isn’t a nice person. But I am a nice person, and a loving wife and mother and daughter. I’m real and characters aren’t and if some of the most religious people I know enjoy risqué movies and books, then why would I even be concerned? Unfortunately, in today’s times, films and books that have grit and sex sell the most. Thankfully, I’m not a trend follower.
So Third Book is gonna be painfully slow, depending on how much time I can squeeze in. I just have to get this main character out of my head and into the computer. I’ll try to be a much better blogger too, even if it means I only type to hear the little clicky sound. It counts as daily computer usage.
Enjoy this beautiful, colorful Autumn Christmas (seriously, stores)?? and count your blessings.