It took me years to sale my first book. To push through the disappointment, I kept writing. This constant forward motion helped me pump out several novels. Now that I bounce back and forth between editing old to writing new, I sometimes struggle to change gears. Fixing what you’ve already written is nowhere near as hard as creating something new. When I’m steeped in edits, like I am at the moment, I don’t have the time to get the traction necessary for the blank page I’m staring at. And after staring at the same blank page for several days, it’s hard to shake the fear that my creative side has somehow died. Then, bam! I’ll get a few days reprieve from my editor and the flood gates open again.
Now if only I could take back the sobbing I did on my husband’s shoulder. He was right, I freaked out over nothing. Of course I’ll do it all over again the next time it happens. I can’t help myself. All rational goes out the window when the characters in my head stop talking.