When I finished my book on Monday, I told myself that I wasn’t lazy if I took the rest of December off. I’m going to be visiting family for 2 weeks anyway, so there won’t be time to work then, and what’s an extra week of not writing in the grand scheme of things?
So I read a book and watched some TV the last few days, and I read blogs and checked Facebook. And while I was sitting at my computer, I got the old itch to write.
You see, I’m bored with not writing already. It only took 72 hours, and I opened up a Word document to start brainstorming my next project (which I hope I’ll be able to work on simultaneously with revisions of TFH). And I asked myself, What in the hell are you doing??? Why would you want to write now, after just finishing 300+ pages?
I have no answers. I don’t know what it is that compels me to write. I don’t know why, while I was in the middle of TFH, I complained daily about how much I hated writing and couldn’t stand to look at it. I’d sit here, writhing in my chair as I tried to pump out 1,000 words every day. I’d finish the sentence that would get me over 1k and stop wherever I was. I’d avoid opening the file until the afternoon because procrastination is just so good. I couldn’t stand writing.
It’s like I have to force myself to do other things. I get restless with whatever I’m doing and want to start reading through TFH so I can form a revision plan. Then I have to smack my hand away from Scrivener and remind myself of the rule: don’t read your book for at least 3 weeks after finishing it.
The Aubrey from Monday: God, 3 weeks is too short. I never want to look at that book again.
The Aubrey from today: *thumbs twiddling* Gee, is 3 weeks up yet? This is taking forever.
What the hell, guys? Why can’t I ever be content? What is it that’s calling me back? It’s like those volatile relationships where the people break up and get back together countless times. We all know couples like that. And you watch from the sidelines knowing it will be doomed again, wanting to remind the people why they broke up last time, but they won’t hear you. There’s too much passion for it to ever really end.
Since it’s definitely too soon to dig into TFH revisions, I’m going to work on outlining my [potential] next book. I only had the idea a few weeks ago, and, like all shiny new ideas, it leapt to the top of my I-need-to-write-this list. The thing is, most ideas sink like a rock within a few days, so the fact that this one is still at the top might mean something. I’m intimidated by it because it would be middle grade, which I’ve never written before, but what would writing be without a little fear?
It’s a strange compulsion, the need to write.