There are some days I just don't want to write. Days when the very idea of sitting down in front of my computer and tap-tap-tapping on the key to form even one sentence is the very last thing I want to do. I've felt this way for the past week or so. It's not that I haven't been excited about the book.
Nope. My head is full of scenes, and I can describe my hero right on down to the scar on his... well. Never mind. You'll need to read to find that out. Sometimes I think I can even hear the voice of my heroine, although I'm wondering how upper-class British a woman who's been in St. John's for most of her life during the the first decades of the 1800s would sound. There'd likely be a large mix of Irish and lower-class British dialects tossed around in her world. But I suspect she had a very strict and proper governess. Her father likely wouldn't have sacrificed that. Regardless, I've been thinking about the book. I just haven't done anything to get it down on paper.
If I wanted to come up with excuses, I certainly could. But the real reason is sheer burn-out. The past few weeks at work have been exciting, lots of new projects on the go, quick deadlines, high expectations, etc. And since the majority of what I do at work is write, you can see why writing more at home hasn't really been tops on my list.
But then yesterday morning (Friday) I walked into the sun-lit kitchen. The combination of the bright sun, amplified by the snow, and the welcoming sight of a tidy dining room table, made me want to call in sick and plop myself down at the table and just write away. Of course, I didn't. I went to work. But I spent all day wishing I was at that table writing. Last night I sent myself to bed early just so I could have a chance at wanting to wake this morning. And here I am.
And you know what? The sun is just as bright. The table looks just as inviting. And I feel a scene or two coming on. What do you know. It's time to write again.
I really am a get up in the morning and write kind of writer, which is surprising since I'm a notorious non-morning person. When I was at Kilmory at the writing retreat back in October it was the same thing. I'd wake up, make coffee, and go for a walk. In the sun. In the drizzle. In the pouring rain. Didn't matter. A quick little jaunt through the woods, and I was ready to go.
The separation between the real world and the writing world also helped, and I think I might need to escape for a bit once I really get into the meat of this book. Of course, we're planning a trip to England very soon, but that's fact finding. I'll likely write (and I'll blog, of course) while there, but I think by the summer I'll be taking weekends and hiding in whatever cabin I can manage to borrow. I'm lucky between my parents, my in-laws and my aunt, there are three.
So now I'm off to grab a coffee, and a bagel, and see what happens next.
And sorry for the 11 day blog break. I won't let it go this long again.
Nope. My head is full of scenes, and I can describe my hero right on down to the scar on his... well. Never mind. You'll need to read to find that out. Sometimes I think I can even hear the voice of my heroine, although I'm wondering how upper-class British a woman who's been in St. John's for most of her life during the the first decades of the 1800s would sound. There'd likely be a large mix of Irish and lower-class British dialects tossed around in her world. But I suspect she had a very strict and proper governess. Her father likely wouldn't have sacrificed that. Regardless, I've been thinking about the book. I just haven't done anything to get it down on paper.
If I wanted to come up with excuses, I certainly could. But the real reason is sheer burn-out. The past few weeks at work have been exciting, lots of new projects on the go, quick deadlines, high expectations, etc. And since the majority of what I do at work is write, you can see why writing more at home hasn't really been tops on my list.
But then yesterday morning (Friday) I walked into the sun-lit kitchen. The combination of the bright sun, amplified by the snow, and the welcoming sight of a tidy dining room table, made me want to call in sick and plop myself down at the table and just write away. Of course, I didn't. I went to work. But I spent all day wishing I was at that table writing. Last night I sent myself to bed early just so I could have a chance at wanting to wake this morning. And here I am.
And you know what? The sun is just as bright. The table looks just as inviting. And I feel a scene or two coming on. What do you know. It's time to write again.
I really am a get up in the morning and write kind of writer, which is surprising since I'm a notorious non-morning person. When I was at Kilmory at the writing retreat back in October it was the same thing. I'd wake up, make coffee, and go for a walk. In the sun. In the drizzle. In the pouring rain. Didn't matter. A quick little jaunt through the woods, and I was ready to go.
The separation between the real world and the writing world also helped, and I think I might need to escape for a bit once I really get into the meat of this book. Of course, we're planning a trip to England very soon, but that's fact finding. I'll likely write (and I'll blog, of course) while there, but I think by the summer I'll be taking weekends and hiding in whatever cabin I can manage to borrow. I'm lucky between my parents, my in-laws and my aunt, there are three.
So now I'm off to grab a coffee, and a bagel, and see what happens next.
And sorry for the 11 day blog break. I won't let it go this long again.