Time Out

Hi there, peeps.

Assuming, I know.

Since the illustrious 45’s unexpected coup in November of last year, I’ve been lax writing in this little blog. Actually, I’ve been lax since whatever month/year it was that Agent B and I parted company and I feel bad about that, like I’m letting myself and my (dwindling) audience down.

I know I’ve stated in the past that I created this blog primarily to give voice to the process–process, and product–of writing. And yet, time and again, I’ve scrapped a writing-based topic to accommodate billowing angst relative to Trump et al. Every time I write a post about that man, my guilt-bag gets a little heavier. It’s getting harder and harder to drag that thing around.

See, that’s what happens when a writer abandons her goal, especially a goal so publically stated.

One would assume the author of a writing blog would actually be, you know, writing. But my writing muse has been visiting me with alarming irregularity, and my WIP’s wordcount has suffered mightily in her absence, lurching forward in fits and starts when it moves at all. Same goes for queries sent out relative to ALBERT and CHERRY.

I can blame this unpleasant impasse on the unfortunate fact that I don’t have an agent anymore. Or, that my country may or may not be going down the tubes. Or, that my family has dealt with challenges of late and often finds itself floundering in an emotional maelstrom. Then again, aren’t we all?

But the truth is, Inertia has been an enticement I can’t resist, and Guilt–that freeloader–has been more than happy to come along for the ride.

Yesterday’s emails coughed up another rejection for CHERRY. On the scale of one to FUCK YOU, this rejection was up in the OUCH, DAMMIT category. I’d found an indie publisher I thought would be a really good fit, sent the editor my query, synopsis, and the first 10,000 words. She liked what she saw and requested the full and then, yesterday . . . suffice to say that particular love-fest didn’t last. She provided feedback; I shall spare you the gory details. I responded with a short but sweet thank-you because I’m a professional writer and that’s what professional writers do, never mind the fact that I have yet to make a dime from my writing.

See, that’s the point. Unless I keep writing and querying, I will be be stuck in the same boat I’ve been in. Nothing changes when nothing changes. Yesterday, I was disappointed, sure. But then I thought, Write something, goddammit. I pulled up my WIP, got down to business and by seven p.m. yesterday, I’d passed that elusive 60,000-word mark, which is a significant milestone for me. My goal for SOULLESS is 72K-words, which means I have fewer than 12K to go.

I won’t get there by sitting on my ass.

This little blog has served me well, in large part to those of you who’ve read this blog, shared your own stories, offered suggestions and support. Truly, I can’t thank you enough for that. I hope in some small way I’ve returned the favor; hope, too, that down the road, this journey can continue.

For now, I’m taking a little detour. I hope you guys will be there when I get back, but I won’t blame you if you won’t; after all, you have your own lives to live, your own novels to write, your own daily crappola to slog through and try to figure out. You don’t need me to be bending your ears and anyway, I haven’t lately, not to any great extent. Heck, you may not even realize I’ve gone.

Which means I might be back before you know it.

xoxo kk

 

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