I’m supposed to be starting a new book. Well, the outline at the very least. I told myself that when I finished NaNo, and ultimately the first draft I was working on, I would give myself two weeks off to decompress and then start working on the outline of a brand new book in a brand new world with brand new characters.
I wanted to write something witchy and dark and fun and maybe a little bit epic? I haven’t written anything nearing the 100k mark in years. Partly from honing my pacing, and partly from the genres I’ve been working on. But I love a good, meaty book with lots of world building and a strong magic system.
But, you know, best laid plans of mice and men.
NaNo wrapped on November 30th and I “won” by the skin of my teeth, and then I hit the end of the first draft on December 2nd with a cool 78k words. It was a difficult book to write because it was a spin-off to my Ash and Ruin Trilogy, but set earlier, where the world is just starting to fall apart. Honestly, when I wrote A&R it was haaard. But still exciting and a little bit escapism like The Walking Dead or The Road is to watch. But that was before. This year? It’s not fun. It’s not escapism. It’s hard. So that 78k words took waaaay loner than they should have. And I’m not too excited to get into the revision process. I want something new.
Then December 4th hit and my world caught fire. Literally. I don’t know if my little beach town has ever made the national news, but thanks to the Thomas Fire, we did that week. And that fire, while no longer burning Ventura, is still raging around us at only 60% contained. We wake up to ash drifting in the sunbeams and the smell of wet campfire every morning.
But that night was terrifying. I’ve never actually been afraid of a natural disaster before. I was afraid then. I watched the mountains in the not so far away catch fire and I watched the flames spill down toward the houses. It felt very, very close. It played tricks with our minds. The power went out when the power company shut the whole county off to protect the transformers. We packed our bags. We gathered our important papers. I disconnected my computer. We got the dogs sorted. We had our vehicle packed so if the firemen said go, we were ready to just put the dogs in the vehicle so we could go. We cat-napped on the couch, fully clothed, just in case. Only when the power came on and the winds calmed down enough for the helicopters to safely fly again, sometime around 3am, did I finally get any sleep.
The rest of the week was a total bust. My husband couldn’t work. The city was shrouded in ash and smoke so thick it was more dangerous than Stage 3 Smog alerts from the 70s. We had to tape plastic over all the windows and fireplace. The smoke stacks were making their own weather they were so huge. The daily highs were in the 80s. It was bizarre and nothing like the holidays. People were out with N95 masks over their faces instead of scarves and beanies.
The next week–last week–was better. The air would clear and the skies would be bright blue occasionally. The smell of smoke dissipated. But getting back to normal wasn’t exactly easy.
So my two weeks off have been mostly stress related as we scramble to get things back to normal with work, which means I haven’t been in the right head space to think about a new project.
Online, things always seem great. We see everyone’s highlight reel. The great dinner they had at that fancy restaurant. How adorable and well-behaved their furbabies are. The cute shoes they bought. The four thousand word-count day they had. The best-seller rank they hit. The world is shiny and perfect online! Right?
But it’s not. And that’s okay. I mean, it’s not okay, but it’s normal and we’re all dealing with it even if we’re not showing everyone on Facebook or Instagram.
I should be working on something shiny and new right now, but I’m not. I’m not winging through a revision that’s going amazingly well. I’m not churning out 3-5k words a day. I’m just trying to get back to normal. I’m trying to give my mind and my muse a break. And that’s okay.
So my new book will start in the new year. It feels weird giving myself permission to wait, but I want to enjoy working on this new book. I want it to make me excited about writing. I want it to break my heart and pick me up and be the story I want to write. And I have to let that happen the way it’s going to happen.
Let’s just hope, if there are any other delays, it’s not because the world is on fire.
Humbug
I got it bad. And I’m not talking about that Usher song from 2001 (hello yes old). I’m talking about the dreaded writer’s block.
And then I picked up a book on a whim at my local indie. Riding on the recent trend of hygge–a Scandinavian-inspired cozy lifestyle–the book includes a number of fairly accessible craft ideas. Now, my adventures into crafting have historically followed this pattern: 1) I get really freaking excited about a craft, 2) I impulse-buy all the supplies for said craft, 3) I spend like one hour actually making the craft, 4) I realize that crafting is hard, and 5) I never touch said craft ever again. But this particular book included some information that I hadn’t realized before.
I’ll skip right to the end here, folks. This experiment has been a resounding success. I mean, I’m laughably bad at crocheting, I have paper-cuts from Danish origami, and my wreaths look like they were made by children, but I have ideas again. Something about having my hands and front-brain occupied seems to leave my creative brain free to float wherever it pleases. It does, in fact, feel very zen to just zone out and let my hands work until bam! An idea strikes and I’m running for the closest pen and paper.
Spellbound Scribes 