As many of you know, I put a lot of work into my novel Searcher. Fifteen months, to be exact. Fifteen months of hard, hard work. I gotta say, it left me pretty burned out.
So during my writing break/philosophical journey, I made some big plans. I told myself that when I started my next book I was going to do things differently. No more lashing myself with the work whip. No more hair shirt. I was just going to grab the kernel of an idea (any idea will do,) jump on the free writing roller coaster, and enjoy the ride. I was going to pound out a book in a month just like everyone else (*cough*kiersten*cough*natalie*cough*) seems to and that was that.
Well, I tried.
And I've had to face a truth. You are what you are. As much as I really, really (really, really) wanted to, I just can't write that way. I am, like it or not, a planner. A note taker. An outliner (*shudder*) I have to know where I'm going when I sit down to the computer. When I try to do it any other way, I either end up staring at a blank screen or writing a few pages that I will absolutely hate the minute I'm done.
So there is it. Face it. I'm in for another fifteen months of work. And I guess that's the way it should be. We have to accept who we are as a writers, and who we aren't.
But don't worry, this time, I really will leave my whip and hair shirt in the closet.