I thought I would start writing again.
When I lost my book (I’m not sure I ever mentioned it actually, but we were robbed, and I am stupid. So when the laptop was stolen, so was the 30,000 word draft of my book), I thought I would start over.
…Once I had re-outlined.
…Once I had found out whether or not I was pregnant.
Then I got pregnant, and I was so excited. But I found that my creative energy was consumed by quite a different kind of creativity. And then I felt sick for six weeks. Still, I thought I would start over.
…Once I felt better.
…Once I had wrapped my head around the idea of this baby.
…Once I knew this was really happening.
Then we went away to Thailand for Christmas. I never intended to write while we were there. There was visiting and gaming and exploring to do, and I didn’t bring my laptop. But still, I thought I would start over.
…Once we got back.
…Once my leg had healed.
But now, I am back. My leg is healed. I feel better. I wouldn’t say I really have my head wrapped around the baby thing, but with some movements starting and the beginnings of preparation underway, I would say I am well on the way to that. Everyone knows now (well, not absolutely everyone, of course, but it’s reasonably common knowledge, and I definitely don’t feel the need to keep it a secret any longer). I am getting back into other activities. My piano lessons are going well. I am playing bridge. I am singing in choir. I am swimming and yoga-ing and occasionally walking. I am even managing to do some chores.
And still, I am not writing.
I am not blogging. I am not journalling (apart from the occasional entry in our baby journal). I am definitely not working on the novel. And I don’t really know why.
I miss the routine, the habit, the feeling of productivity. I miss the characters, the story, the unexpected twists and turns. I don’t want to write the exact same story again, but there were elements of what I wrote that I really loved and would like to incorporate again.
But I am not writing. And despite what I miss about it, a big part of me doesn’t really care. I love my other activities. I usually find enough to fill my days. My life is going to change in a big way relatively soon, and a relaxing break before that change might even be a good thing.
The conclusion (if you can really call it that)? I am not really writing now, but I am not ruling it out either. I am going to take things as they come. (And maybe that will even be a life lesson for me – it’s not something that comes all that easy to me!)