Met with my editor Saturday night. We went over the first ten pages of 'Blue.' I'm sending it out for a 'special' critique. She was kind enough to spend a good few hours going over it with me. We cut a lot of little things. Things that were redundant. Things that really didn't need to be in those pages. That's what I like best about having an editor. She sees into the very heart of the story - not at the overall picture.
However, when it was done, I felt drained. The joy of writing seems to have fled from me. I ponder it. Is it because I am so focused on getting published? Have I abrogated my soul for this one purpose? I really have to spend some time thinking about this. Should I just chuck the whole 'need' for being published and go back to just the need to write?
It could be the weather. We broke a record this year (and the year isn't even over yet!). We've had the wettest year in all recorded history for my city. I used to love rain. I really did. I had a 'white noise' machine that would play rain. Mornings and nights I would lie in bed listening to the rain on my roof and soak it in. That has changed. I hate rain. I hate the sound of it. It feels like little hammers hitting at my brain as if it were some anvil.
It could be the lack of a 'separate' place to write. I have no trouble with my blog. Thankfully. But I find I am only writing at home. I used to go out to different restaurants with my handy-dandy yellow pad and have a blast writing. The creative juices flowed at these places. BUT - every time I go, as of late, the places have been full and I deem it rude to hold a table to write when the waiter/waitress can get more tips if I eat and leave.
I wonder if these are just excuses since publishing is such a hard road. Probably. I plan on going back and doing some 'light' writing for a bit. Try to get back the joy. Will also focus on why I want to be published. So that others can meet the characters that I have fallen in love with. So that others can shiver at the danger, laugh at the growing pains of the hero/heroine, rejoice at the growth, and simmer in the warmth of love and friendship.
Life is perplexing.