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This past week has been, well, odd.
I made it through my initial on-cloud-nine feelings post-book and now I’m sort of hanging in writing limbo. You know, that spot where you just aren’t sure where you fit into the process of writing and are waiting to get moving again.
I should be plotting out my book's sequel while I wait for the first book to digest. But, no matter how much time I spend sitting in front of what should be my back-story file, nothing is coming to me. My mind is elsewhere, digging up another story altogether.
Initially, I was frustrated by this. Why is it that my stupid muse can’t follow directions? I have the ghost of a perfectly good sequel just waiting to be hammered out and my gum-cracking, nail-polish-chipping muse is so over that right now. She wants to work on what she wants to work on. *eye roll.*
What can one do in such a situation? I had two choices; let the little brat roam free in my mind or struggle on my own without her. When I looked at it that way, there wasn’t really much of a choice.
I gave up arguing, pacified myself with the knowledge that I’m really just killing time in creativity waiting to revise, and rolled with her. Little twit.
The entire experience has been surprisingly satisfying so far. I’d forgotten how much I really love the initial brainstorming phase of writing. So many options available. I haven’t written myself into any corners, I have the entire world of plot twists open to me.
Once again I’m falling in love with writing.
Now that I’ve been through this before, I’ve felt strangely light-hearted about it. Last time, when I would get stuck, I’d panic. Should I be feeling like I’m spinning my wheels? Is this “normal”?
As I’m experiencing the process this time, I know a little more what to expect. And I’m lounging, enjoying the ride.
I assume that I’ll feel the initial frustration as the details of my story tease my mind, there in the recesses but still trapped in my subconscious. Then I’ll feel the rush of a new story, like the first glow of falling in love, all whirling and spinning around me. Somewhere in the middle, I’ll trip over it, wonder at the sense of boredom as I stretch through the center and doubt myself, before slipping over the crest and tumbling down the hill towards the black moments and HEA.
And at the end, I’ll weep again, bittersweet tears, at the close of another journey.
What a fabulous gift spinning tales is.
What is your favorite part of writing? Is there a phase of the story you prefer above another? How do you feel in the first bit while you brainstorm? Any other analogies you have to explain the writing process?