So…I’m at that stage in my writing journey where I have completed 2 novels and I’m waiting in bated breath to hear back about my 2nd book currently on submission to traditional publishers. Eeecckk! (That alone, requires oodles and oodles of endless patience, plus a thick hide to handle the rejection.)
So what now?
Write a 3rd book of course! I feel like I wrote my first two novels with relatively ease, I should be able to bounce back and start a third one no problem! (I liken it to giving birth…it doesn’t seem so hard after it’s complete, yet I’ve totally forgotten how painful gestation was in the first place.)
Everything starts off well. I already have a topic I want to write about: a literary mystery/thriller based loosely on the true story of the murder of a sea turtle conservationist in Costa Rica. (Don’t ask me how I come up with these ideas; it’s just trolling the Internet I guess, or whatever piques a writer’s imaginative interest.) I’ve even decided on the format: told through the eyes of multiple characters, à la AS I LAY DYING, or my favourite book of last year, A BRIEF HISTORY OF SEVEN KILLINGS (not ambitious at all)…so I make a long list of at least a dozen characters I will create.
Then, I actually start to write.
I write a catchy opening scene/prologue, detailing the actual attack. Then, even a backstory of the conservationist’s origins and his love for nature. And, even more pages as I dabble in three different character voices and write at least a page each of their stories, told through their perspectives…
And then, something strange happens.
I don’t want to write anymore. WTF???
No matter, I’ve been through this twice before. I’ve written TWO novels for goodness sakes!! Most people have never even written one. I know the discipline it takes to write, rewrite, edit, rewrite, edit and write until you never want to see your manuscript again. My office is filled with paper and file folders tall enough to eclipse and six foot man! So, what gives?
I go back to my desk and try to write some more. OK, let’s work more on the main female character. I think up the details of her life, what she’s doing now, how her life eventually intertwines with that of the sea turtle conservationist…How do they end up in Costa Rica, what type of story does she want to tell, etc…etc…
I write some gibberish. It’s bad, but no matter, I’ve been through this chartered territory before. I just need to tough it out, work through it and keep writing.
Except I don’t want to. Something bizarre has happened that has never occurred to me during my 1st two novels: I feel like I’ve lost inspiration. MON DIEU! My muse has left me and I feel like I’m forcing the story.
Whomp, whomp, whomp…
So what I do now? Admonish myself to being a lazy ass and just suck it up? Force myself to keep writing? But I am, by nature, NOT LAZY – so what should I do???
I try to convince myself to stop being a whiner already and just write this damn story…the voices will come, the narrative will mesh together, if only I keep showing up at my desk, but for some strange reason, a very faint murmuring in my gut tells me to stop. It’s not the right time or it’s not the right story.
With my previous books, I felt like when I started writing, it was almost like I was possessed with my narrative. Yes, it required a Herculean amount of sheer effort to show up at my desk every day, but for some reason, it felt good and actually, not that hard. I was fascinated by the topics I had chosen and felt absolutely driven to tell those stories.
Except this time around, everything about the writing process feels different. So, am I merely LAZY or is that something more sinister here at play? Dare, I say it, WRITER’S BLOCK?? An affliction I have largely dismissed as a psychological excuse for lazy people?? How can a person have writer’s block??? There are so many interesting topics in the world; this condition is surely a lame justification for poor twiddling souls who just need an artful way of saying they just don’t want to do it anymore.
So, if it’s not laziness or writer’s block, what the F*** is it???
This is my current state of affairs. If I’m honest, I’ve been wrestling with this dilemma for the past six months or so and I’ve decided the ailment which possesses me is neither idleness nor artistic angst.
I think it’s an opportunity for me to explore. To learn more about who I am and what I want to give to the world. This might sound a tad altruistic or downright big-headed, but I’ve decided that for the next year or so, I will just follow my curiosity and see what it takes me.
I love to learn and cultivate my mind, so nothing’s really being lost here.
Already in the first six months of 2016, while NOT writing, I have exposed myself to countless new concepts that absolutely enrapture me. I’ve decided I will blog about it and try and be more disciplined about posting here. And I shall call it: MY YEAR OF CURIOSITY – Tales of a non-writing writer.
My hope is that at the end of this year (or two?), I will have gained clearer insight into who I am and what it is I want to write for my next novel.
So strap yourselves – you’re in for a bumpy (and hopefully somewhat captivating) ride! 🙂