Wednesday, April 17, 2019
I got zero writing done while on vacation in Mexico last week, and it felt great. Between the novel and my full-time writing job, I'm burnt out. I did get reading done, though. Finally finished The Haunting of Hill House, which was not scary and every character sounded exactly the same, so I'm confused about what the big deal is. I also made good progress on Christopher Andrew's The Secret World, which is a fascinating compendium on the history of intelligence (thanks for the lend, Rupert!). I started Amy Spurway's Crow, which I'm enjoying immensely. (I'll be interviewing Amy at Ben McNally's on April 25, btw. Come!) But mostly my vacation consisted of overeating gluten-free waffles and guacamole, overspending on daytrips off the resort, and revelling in quality time with my husband.
For the last few years, I've been using all of my vacation time to work on the new novel. It's been mostly wonderful, don't get me wrong; having a story that I'm obsessed with telling is a joy. But it takes a toll on the rest of my life -- as in actually living one. I already have chronic pain which limits me, and though book writing is a life unto itself, it does limit me as well. So while the chronic pain came with me on this vacation, I managed it ok, and the book writing didn't come with me at all. I love writing, but goddamn if we didn't need to spend some time apart.
Tuesday, April 2, 2019
Now that my second novel is written should I:
a) start writing my third novel, or
b) work on the Christmas screenplay I've been threatening to write for years, or
c) plunge headfirst into a deep pool of reality TV and come up for air sometime in 2021?