Well, I lasted a year and a month having two websites. Whose stupid idea was that? Oh, me? Was I trying to clarify my brand again? That must have been it.
I’m pretty sure I swore I’d never put all my books in Kindle Unlimited again, but I’ve done that as well.
You all, I’m trying, trying, trying to get my writing mojo back. I’ve been listening to podcasts and reading books on craft and reading for fun again! (I don’t know if you know this but sometimes it is hard to actually read for pleasure when you are a writer because you … know how the sausage is made so to speak. It takes the fun out of it.)
I started writing a bunch of contemporary romances and I almost finished Open Door #4, Wild and Free. Nothing was working for me. I felt like I was having to try so hard to get through it – which is the identical feeling I had when I was trying to write Fearless for nearly two years.
I didn’t want to feel that way again – but I also couldn’t figure out what my deal was this time either. I’ve barely written in 2016. I published one short story. I can’t still be burned out?
I tried getting a part-time job that came with a pay check where the taxes were already taken out for me and I didn’t have to manage that myself. 🙂 I tried joking about how I was a lunch lady by day and an author by night … except I was always too bone-tired to write when I got home from work and I never wrote.
I freak out. To myself, mostly. Sometimes to writer friends who are also feeling so letdown by this thing we love. Quitting isn’t an option and I don’t really want to be a lunch lady.
So, how do I fix this? I looked at all of the books I like(d) to read and laughed a little at the fact that they’re nothing like the books I write. Everything I’ve written has been a challenge or a dare or an experiment. Before I became an author I wasn’t much of a genre fiction reader. I read romance, sure, but would never have called myself a romance reader. (I’ve read exactly one Nora Roberts book.)
What I read way back when I was one of you people that reads 3-5 books a week was Chick-lit. Women’s (Literary?) Fiction. Magical realism. Books about regular people and once in a while something oddly magical would happen to them and it just was. They weren’t THE CHOSEN ONE. The fate of the world wasn’t on their shoulders. Eh, maybe the fate of their neighborhood or their small town. 🙂
Here’s what I’m getting at: I’m going to write a book like those books and see how it goes.
My hope is that I can write my way back to you and you’ll be an engaged reader again.
So, bug me! Ask me when the hell I’m going to have that book done, okay?
Now I have to go deal with a turkey that is possibly more frozen than it should be on Thanksgiving eve.
Such. A. Ruiner.