I’m having a tough time sitting down to write my next book.
Really dragging my feet…typing fingers weighted with sand…thinking vacuuming might be a better idea.
What in the world is wrong with me? *checks forehead* I’m not running a fever.
I just finished writing what I believe is one of my best books ever and it is time to move on to the next one. Heck, I have three stories ready to go, why can’t I just move on? But maybe that’s the answer.
The book I just finished was very emotionally charged. It required me to dig deeper into myself and pour raw and scary feeling onto the page all for the sake of an honest story. And in the end, I fell in love. With the characters, their strength in the face of extreme hardships, their devotion to one another. It is an aching, searching for love and finally finding it against all odds type of story.
It’s like having a great love affair that I don’t want to end yet. This kind of mini-depression is what I feel when I read a REALLY AWESOME book. I don’t want it to be over. I am sad at the end.
And then it struck me–I am becoming a better writer! I depressed myself.
Now that is something to smile about.
Have you ever been sad to come to THE END of a book?