Writers Who Don't Write Get Grouchy

I'm still in non-writing mode, trying to convince myself that a writer needs a break from the constant internal conversations of characters who don't exist. Of course, I'm suffering. Writing has become my life. There -- I said it. The day-to-day personal things I do are of no interest to anyone, I'm sure. I quit Facebook and Twitter for exactly that reason. Who would care? I do my daily chores, read a lot, watch more TV than is healthy, considering how irritated I get with it. And my politics, my philosophies, the things that impassion me are revealed only in my work -- deep, deep in the work, I hope. Nothing worse than a preachy novelist.

So I expect to be embroiled in the next book very soon. I can't go on this way. I had a tiny thought that I could do some painting, but my heart just isn't in it. Painting does make me happy, and it's an almost instant fix. You come up with the idea, and get it down on the canvas. But I need more than that. I want total mental immersion day in, day out. I need the pull of my story to get me rushing downstairs to the computer each morning. The painting will have to wait. It's been a long time since the last one and, no doubt, will be a long time until the next.

This blog was meant to be a diary of my writing days. I enjoy talking about the work-in-progress, and sharing the various stages of it, although whether it's ever uplifting and useful to others I'm not sure. The fact is: my blog is a bit pointless if it doesn't talk about the act of writing. Why else would you read it?

And so I am at loose ends. I can't imagine not being a writer. I don't like not writing. Many of you grumble about the inability to write -- from lack of time, or lack of enthusiasm. If it's making you irritable, I understand. I'm about as crabby and sober as I can get, and it has to stop. Booze won't do it.

It's all about to change. I want my other life back. The writing one. I'll let you know how it goes.

"You must stay drunk on writing so reality cannot destroy you." ~ Ray Bradbury

13,000 Words and Still Going...

Kit Courtney hates that I bragged about my word count last week. Even as I read her little comments, I'd produced more. Nah-Nah-Nah-Nah-Nah--Nah, Kit. The total is over 13,000 words since finishing my blog on Tuesday. I know it's a lot, but you have to feed the flow thing once it starts begging. I count myself lucky to get back to it. I was starting to worry. Nothing sadder than a writer's blog where there's no reference to the serious writing. In fact, had the dry spell continued, I think I would have taken some time away from it - the blog, I mean.

This current spurt makes up for several weeks of goofing off. I can't explain why it happened, but complaining about the unpublished writers' lot in life seemed to do the trick. And it's still working. I think I'll probably finish about the same amount this week. And then that will be it for a while - R & R time before girding up for the next stage.

I am approaching a mini-climax in the book - the fulcrum from which the final half of the book springs. Almost like a Book One and Book Two arrangement, the first - and its emphasis on the 1940s - is reaching its critical point. It's exciting for me to see where it's going, and I'm back to that restless, don't-want-to-leave-it stage, hating to turn off the computer at night. This can't last, or I'd burn out before the end. But "Book One" - if we can call it that - will be more or less finished this week.

As an aside, Melissa will understand this: I had such a good weep over a section of it yesterday. I always figure that's a good indicator for the quality of the story, but it could also be just a reflection of my own intense involvement in it. I must ask my friend in Oz if she wept over the same bits.

I'm going to feel a bit of a fool if she didn't.

Post script: Just received a rejection on one of the partials. Thought you might like to read a snippet, because it's not negative, really.

"You have a great imagination - I love the premise - and you're a good writer, but I'm sad to say that I just wasn't passionate enough about this to ask to see more. I wish I could offer constructive suggestions, but I thought the dialogue was fine, the characters well-crafted, and the plot well-conceived. I think it's the kind of thing that really is subjective - why some people adore the book on the top of the NYTimes bestseller list, and others don't."

If we're going to be rejected, they should look like this, I think.