It’s like a detox.

I didn’t write anything new for thirty days.

Maybe I’m cured?

I’m thinking about that.

I’m taking my reading-month early. I started two days ago. Basically a month where I don’t write and it is usually January. Usually I fail and by January 12th, I am scraping the ideas out of my brain in heavy chunks, writing as fast as my fingers will let me.

But I don’t know if it’s going to be like that this time.

I just changed the title. It used to say What should I write? Now it is changed to should.

I mean, obviously, of course I should. But writing isn’t bringing me the relief it did for a while. Lately it feels untenable. I feel like I’m getting to be a better writer as the market for writing like mine shrinks and shrinks and shrinks. The nice rejections I get (some of the strongest writing we’ve seen) get tempered with the smack of reality (but, unfortunately, such writing doesn’t sell).

I can’t give up writing. But I don’t know if I can keep it as my focus when I don’t think I am getting out of it all that I put into it. It’s a drain right now. Maybe I’m coming to the harsh realization that no matter how much I love novels, I don’t know how to write one. Maybe I’m coming to the realization that being thirty-five and unsuccessful at all the jobs I’ve tried so far means I need to get serious about life. Maybe it’s just the fact that it was dark at four-forty-five today. Maybe The Mindy Project was just too sad this week and my mind too suggestible and now I am sad and wondering and thinking that maybe I made a mistake simply because Mindy Lahiri is thinking that.

What will this month bring? Tesfa, who loves jokes right now, would say Christmas! So this month will bring Christmas. And probably a bunch of book reviews as I try to catch up on some ARCs.

I am going to assume that Didion has three syllables.

Lying in bed and

reading Joan Didion books

I thus fell asleep.

Where did it go? When will it be back? It’s not writers’ block because I have ideas. It’s just more that I can’t write them down to even a shitty-first-draft satisfaction.

So that sucks. Maybe I’ll just go and edit until I feel more writerly.

I pushed through and got a whole proof-read and polished Wolf Children story. Eleven thousand words of literary non-linear fantasy that doesn’t even work. The amount of time and effort needed to make it work: likely infinite. Probably needs to be twice as long. Probably needs to have half of it trashed. Why did I choose to spend time on a story that I know doesn’t work? I don’t understand myself.

Let’s say that the story is, contrary to expectations, magnificent. It’s still unpublishable because it’s a bizarro eleven thousand word literary non linear fantasy story. It’s too literary to be fantasy. It’s to fantastic to be literary. It’s too odd a length to be short or long. It just is like a big ugly thing that I have now spent almost a year on and why? Why why why why why why why?

Whenever I think Why don’t I have a novel yet? I’m going to remember this. Because I do silly things like Wolf Children instead.

Because I work work work on my stories. Yay me!

Did not do any proofreading of Wolf Children yesterday or today.

Yesterday: worked on faerie story.

Today: Wrote some of a new story about Magda who builds a tower.

So there are my excuses.