After finishing the edits and sending them back to my editor, I had plan. The next book in the series is more than a spark in my eye; I have several ideas for another holiday romance and am planning the promo for book three.
So what happened?
What happens every time I finish a book? I shouldn’t have been surprised. Writing is like giving birth and just as exhausting. I slept for twelve hours. And I didn’t want to get out of bed in the morning. For three days I accomplished nothing. The fourth day I finally vacuumed the rugs washed the dishes and cleaned the counters. Whew. Got on the computer and cleared my email. Went to bed early and slept late again. For another three days.
Someone might call this depression. I might have at one time, but it’s not the classic diagnosis. It’s the writer’s version.
Any writer puts heart and soul into finishing that book. It is draining and foolish not to recognize the need to recover. The first time this happened I believed I had writer’s block and panicked. Oh my goodness, would I ever write again—
Well, I did. And the time after that, etcetera.
This time I recognized the need to let my mind go blank. Only it didn’t. I had dreams every night. I had plot ideas fluttering like butterflies through my head. I let it all happen.
Today I didn’t jump onto the computer and check my email. I decided to write this blog and let you know it isn’t unusual to fall down the rabbit hole. Like Alice we come out with a different perspective.
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