Three weeks ago, I was working happily on a second novel. I was enthusiastic about some tips I’d received for marketing my first novel. I thought my career direction was clear in my mind. And then, CRASH! Suddenly, every aspect of my writing seems as jumbled as the blocks in this photo.
I can’t point to any particular thing that made it all fall apart. No one gave Brevity a devastating review. No one told me I should be ashamed to call myself a writer … or blogger … or human being.
Yet here I sit, questioning what I should write—and blog—about and wondering if I should be writing for readers at all. And if I should … well, I believe I’m going about it all wrong. Now, when I sit down at this keyboard, I feel like a big bumbling oaf thrashing around madly in a pea soup fog.
If you’ve followed this blog awhile, you might be thinking this sounds familiar. I know. I’m prone to meltdowns over my writing, and I blog about them. Somehow, this feels different. Maybe because I can’t identify the cause. And until I can, I don’t know what to do about it.
So, I’m reading a lot. Not writing … except for sorry posts like this. (And a whining email or two.) I hope to put these pieces back together soon, though I have a feeling they might not fit the same. They may take on a new shape. I hope you’ll understand if my posts are a little weird until then.
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