So, I’ve been slogging along on my novel. Some days are great, and exciting…other days, not so much. And it occurred to me, finally, that I have reached that dreaded, terrible, boundary line in every project: when you hit the wall, and it stops being fun. Most authors go through this, but I feel as though I’ve plunked a little harder than usual. As in, my problem isn’t mere word-exhaustion.
I said, this morning, “I’ll have fun on the next book.”
And my partner-in-crime replied, “That’s terrible!”
You know what? It is terrible. But it makes terrible sense, too. I wrote seventeen novels in eight years (not including novellas, short stories, and comics), then took a year off to regroup and rest my brain. But instead of just jumping right back into the work as though nothing happened, it’s as though I’m a professional dancer asked to perform after being off the floor for twelve months — and I’m so worried about getting the moves right, I’ve forgotten to have fun.
Aiyeeee! How did that happen?!?
I have no idea. And I have no fix, except to start listening to the music again, and just relax into the book. Enjoy my mornings with the words, over hot chocolate and coffee shops, and sunshine. Not be so fixated on the outcome (finished book), but more on the journey (adventure! romance!), falling in love with my characters again and again — and if I stop falling in love, reinvest them with new life, and new stories, that will help kindle the fire.
I can’t wait until the next book to start having fun again. The next book isn’t the remedy. It’s this one. It’s now. And just the realization of what’s happened, being able to vocalize it, helps tremendously to ease the weight.
It’s a beautiful morning! I’m writing. I’m doing something I love. Life is good.