It’s been a month since I’ve posted. How time flies when you’re having fun! I have been, mostly. Although it’s been a snowy, cold winter here.
When last you heard from me I was thinking. I think I’ve thought enough. I finally got a handle on the book I started and was attempting to return to. You know that feeling when it all falls into place? Nothing better.
But here’s the thing: the thought of writing book 20 puts me into a coma. I feel I don’t have the stamina to write another novel. This may not be true but it’s what I feel now. Thinking about 400 pages or so gives me a stomach ache. I don’t want to do it even though I now know how to do it. It’s overwhelming. Yes, I know about one page at a time. Doesn’t help.
Strangely, there’s another side to this. Sometimes when I think about doing that book it feels exciting. But that feeling comes much less than the other.
Please don’t tell me to get another profession. I either write or I don’t. There are no alternatives for me because I don’t want any.
So here I am feeling I don’t want to write that book. But given who I am, that could change. And given who I am it will never change.