Change in the Air

As with any sorrow or tragedy, I think it’s human nature to stop and count your blessings.  To be thankful for what you still have — and maybe change some of your priorities.

I’ve been taking a hard look at my writing this year and asking some questions I still don’t have the answer for.  Why am I struggling to finish Sig’s story?  Why has my word count gone down so much?  What’s next on the horizon?  Why do I feel so bruised and beat up?

I’m weary.  Maybe it’s real life hits we’ve taken this year, from losing Pepper our dog in March, to my grandpa, to my father-in-law of 24 years.  Maybe it’s the hard revisions I had to do on Tecun and Vicki this year to get them ready for release.  I know part of my weariness is definitely due to the blog promotions I did during that time.

I’m blogged out.  Hence the scarcity of posts here.  Some days I think I’ve already said it all.  And the things I need to say I can’t really say publicly.

It hit me today as I was mulling over this past year that I hit my nine-year writer birthday in September.  Nine years.  I’ve changed a lot in that time… and I have a feeling that I’m changing again.  Growth and change are never easy.

I think that’s why Sig is so difficult.

Lady Blackmyre — even though I wrote her story quickly — challenged me on many fronts.

I find myself looking for deeper meaning and messages in strange places.  And then wondering if I’m reading too much into everyday occurrences and regular writing business.  I used to hear the Call — and in answer, I could gallop full speed ahead.  Now I plod and strain to hear a whisper of where I should go.

I hate to plod.

But plod I must until I can figure out what I need.  This sounds cheesy but my writer soul is crying out for something.  I just can’t hear it.  Or I hear it, and I don’t understand what it’s saying.

It doesn’t help that an idea I had last year — and even had plotted on the wall in my office — never came to fruition.  Every day I had to look at that plot and be reminded of my failure to actually write it.  I just didn’t have the desire to work on it.  As if plotting it out was all my brain cared to do — it was done.  One by one the sticky notes started falling off the wall, yet I clung to that hope that maybe… someday…

Just today I’ve read about someone’s recent deal to a NY publisher for the same general premise.  If only I’d been able to find the time (more importantly, the desire) to write it.  If only I’d been able to shuffle things around.  If only…

It wasn’t meant to be.  Cross it off the list.  I have other things that demand my time anyway, and at the rate Sig’s going, I’ll be working on his project until I die.

If you’re worrying about which project got the axe, let me assure you that Sig is my #1 priority.  Mama Connagher and Mal (Mine to Break) are still very high on my to-do list.  I need some closure on these projects so I’m going to keep pushing.

But I think change is in the air.  What or how or when, I don’t know.  I just feel the need to blaze a new trail.  To go somewhere I’ve never gone before. My inner horse wants to kick down the stall doors and charge off into the wilderness again, wild and free.

So each day is a battle to rein that side of my muse in enough to even think about plodding on Sig.  I’m going back to my mini goal of just 250 words a day.  I have to get back into the story so I can finish.  It was nearly 30K already and only just getting into the main plot.

Maybe the last half of the story will fly.  Vulkar let it be so.