My last novel was written in twenty-one days, which
may or may not be a statistic worth repeating.
With the current one, however—I am 23,000 words into it—I find myself
being a lazy writer, not having added any text for the past three days. I think my lack of initiative may be the
result of several different factors:
indifference to my last two books, lack of attachment to my current
characters, or perhaps a loss of my writing inspiration. I can clearly see my hero and heroine, the
progression of their relationship and its ultimate endgame, but I don’t think I’ve
been happy enough lately to give anyone else’s story its proper
conclusion. I have grown increasingly
disenchanted not with writing but with lip service. I have eagerly been
anticipating the paperback of my published novel for months now, as I have
plans in my mind to promote it to a magazine with a large readership and wide
coverage. As the months pass, it seems
increasingly pointless: if the book is ever printed, I will ship it for review,
but it becomes a question of timeliness; will anyone care if the book is a year
old by that point? Have I missed my chance
to make a big push and have people by the book?
I know all authors—all people, really—must multitask, and I can do it as
well (or as poorly) as anyone. But it’s
very difficult to accomplish your goals when you have so much on your mind.
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