Shortly after my last post, I drowned.
Not in a bad way. In a wave of creativity. In the course of about 3 months, maybe a little less, I entirely rewrote The Unquiet Grave, wrote the rough draft for She Moved Through the Fair, wrote another rough draft for the third book in the Caitlin Ross series, A Maid in Bedlam, and started the draft of the fourth book, The Strayaway Child. Not sure how many words that actually comes to, but not including the rewrites of TUQG, I barfed out about 1200 pages. More, really, because 400 pages into The Strayaway Child I got stuck and decided my plot didn't work and scrapped about 200 pages.
Then, not far into May, the impulse just kind of faded. I'm still working on The Strayaway Child, but in a kind of desultory way, when I feel like it, which does not seem to be often these days. My mind and energy are taken up with other things. I have a lot of energy, actually; it just doesn't seem to be geared toward writing for some reason. I know I should probably keep plugging away, but I've never been one of those people who can sustain an effort when the emotional resonance to the work is absent.
So I've been:
Cleaning the house (SHOCK)
Trying to get out more instead of staying locked in my office all the time
Planning on quitting smoking for real this time
Listening to more music
Some other shit.
BTW, why are all these people posting weird comments in Chinese on my blog?