I take it back. Holly Black, you are not killing me. You hear that Holly Black? I’m sorry. Truly.
I decided to swallow my sour grapes and finish reading The Poison Eaters – which was the root of yesterday’s despair. Every short story in that book could have gone on forever and I would have happily followed along. I wanted more at the end of each and every one. (The secret surprise was the short story tie-in to the Tithe series. Oh, Roiben & Kaye & Corny & Luis, how I love you!)
It’s honesty time. Now that I have a full time job (hiding under the guise of a part-time job – don’t get me started on that one) I have no time to write. My first book flowed out of me in 6 weeks. All at once. All 110,000 words of it.
I wrote every day for hours and hours.
Because I could.
I just don’t have the luxury to do that anymore. The two manuscripts I have partially completed are sitting in the queue patiently waiting their turn. But truly, they have no choice – I don’t know what to do with them.
I’m not feeling creative or inspired. (Insert sick feeling here.)
My plan as of last night was to go to bed, wake up with fresh eyes and a fresh heart and see what the day brought me. Look for signs…that sort of thing.
But instead I printed off the first 50 pages of Uncommon Ground and tonight, God willing, I will sit down with a clear head and a Fine Point Sharpie and start slashing.
There will be blood.
Hopefully followed by inspiration.
And furious typing.