I was catching up on my blog reading this morning when I read a post about why someone writes. She ended her post by asking why I write. So not something I wanted to think about. Here’s the dirty little secret I’ve been wrestling with but I haven’t shared with anyone…Ever since I published that desperate driving desire to write and publish has been satiated.
I’m not sure why I write anymore. That thrill of creation occurs less and less. Mostly when I sit down to create a new work I just feel like it’s a job. It’s WORK.
I used to sit down at my laptop and work to get myself into the right space and then when the words started to flow it was amazing. This incredible sensation, of yes, this is it.
It rarely happens anymore. Mostly I slog it out and it sounds like crap to me after I’m done. I can tell you the exact spot in my spy novel, where it becomes crap. The stuff I wrote four years ago, is good. I can still see that. But the new stuff, the stuff I wrote this year to finish it. Crap. Pure crap.
I’ve lost that loving feeling. Now it’s gone, gone, gone, whoa o o o.
Maybe I need a bunch of guys in uniform to sing to me in a bar….
T.A. Henry 
Perhaps it’s just a genre thing … and you need to be teaching something … Scripting theTruth worked on several levels why not get back to post war England and revisit the aristocracy, a breeding ground for just about anything? I’d go visit that bar too, sounds like you really want to!
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Laughing. I’m not sure my hubs would like me going to the bar. Maybe I should return to WWII era, though. I really want to write about appeasement, sort of a non fiction look at what might have happened based on facts, if Chamberlain hadn’t “appeased.” Maybe it’s time to do that.
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Don’t let the discouragement win! I go there every so often. I call it my ‘maudlin’ phase. Trust me, writing as good as yours doesn’t go anywhere. Remember the stresses and busyness of your life right now. It’s normal to be creatively tired when you’re such a spark to the people around you. I didn’t even start writing (as in finish my first novel) til I was forty. Now I’ve written 27 novels. My life hasn’t got any easier, but I’ve adapted. I’ve found my writing voice again. I’ve decided that even though it isn’t like it used to be I won’t give it up. And I’ve learned to trust the inner core inside me.
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thank you my sweet friend
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I’ve had to take a break lately…it’s OK. It really is. It’ll come back.
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I’m not sure I believe you right now but thank you none the less.
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It’s what I’m telling myself… š
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ahhh. Don’t worry, give it time, it will come back.
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(high five)
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