I’ve written close to half a million words this year. Three complete manuscripts. A dozen or so InstaShorties. A handful of false starts on novel ideas I lost interest in.
I’ve pushed myself creatively and professionally, going well outside my comfort zone.
When I started the year, I thought my path forward was self-publishing. I didn’t see a home for my writing or books in the traditional space. Well, that’s not entirely the reason. The main reason was self-doubt and not believing my words were good enough. But I’ve written that post a few times already and frankly, I’m tired of it myself.
Querying agents and researching the traditional publishing world was something I used to dread. It seemed too daunting to even try but once I did, I realized it was doable. I still found it intimidating but I could do it. I could write and revise a query. I could take my outline and make it a synopsis. I could live with rejection and learn to grow from it.
The hardest part now is the burnout. I’ve got three manuscripts sitting on a shelf. Two of which I love and one I want to overhaul completely. Like, it might as well be a brand new book. I’ve started a new project, but it’s kind of fallen to the wayside as I wait and see where things in play pan out.
In the past when I hit the burnout stage, I stopped writing altogether. I didn’t even want to think about my books or words. But after the disciplines I’ve put into place this year, the burnout has me antsy. I am constantly thinking about my WIP and the characters, wondering when the words will start flowing again. I know they will.
Maybe that’s the difference. I’ve proven to myself that rejection can’t and won’t stop me. I have more than one idea. I can write more than one book. I can do this.
I just need a little space to breathe for a moment.