Having just finished the latest Garnet book (#3), I had my first official night off from writing last night. What did I do? I did everything a newly “freed” writer should do: I watched some network TV (can I confess something? I’m a total “House” junkie,) and then read another chapter or two in a good book (currently: John Scalzi’s Old Man’s War.)
I also wrote.
I know. I'm so ashamed. It's like an addiction. It was the strangest thing. I totally didn’t intend to, but, you see, there’s been this very oddball paranormal romance short story (novel?) bubbling up inside me wanting to come out. The problem is, of course, it’s not a Garnet story. Not only is it not a Garnet story, it’s probably completely un-sellable. Why, you ask? Well, because it’s the story of a chick-litty type heroine who is told by a very hunky angel of God that she is the next messiah. It’s so _wrong_ on so many levels. Of course, I’m enjoying it. Nothing may ever come from it, but that’s okay. I think sometimes it’s good for the soul to have a writing project that’s completely doomed – something you do for the love of it, rather than thinking too hard about whether or not it will ever sell.
Certainly, that’s how alternate me sold her first novel. I wrote something just for myself. Something that turned ME on, and, though I wrote it with a professional eye, I was fairly convinced it was far too controversial and at the same time too frivolous, (see my description of current project for example) to every catch the interest of an editor or an agent. As it turned out, it did both. Who’d’a thunk it?
Tonight, however, I’m determined NOT to write. I really want to read and sleep – both things I desperately need to catch up on.
I’m sure I can go one night without writing.
Yeah, watch me not write.