Let’s talk about my writing history here. I don’t mean it as a brag, not much anyway. It’s just context, and it’s interesting context.
I spent about 2 years writing like a madman. A book a month or so. Massive, massive amounts of content. I kept it going even through some pretty intense exhaustion, and I don’t regret that.
But there came a day when I was working on a book and I wasn’t exactly blocked, I was just…off. I felt tired of it, unwilling, though not unable, to write another book. The stories I already created, that only I had seen, felt like they were staring at me with menace. Like they were angry with me for letting them rot and gather dust. Continue reading