One thing you can do when writing a book is to skip to another chapter when you’re stuck on the one you’re currently writing. This is done so you can continue to write the book rather than bog down into writer’s block. I’m doing this right now, because I feel my first three chapters (or maybe just the latest chapter) are writing the same thing over and over. Not much action, too much expository.
Wouldn’t it be nice if real life were that way? If you could just skip over a day gone wrong and go to the next activity? If you could slide past the boring parts and get to the more interesting ones? I could skip a work week and make it to the weekend early.
It doesn’t work that way. The work still needs to be done. The boring parts are necessary to enjoy the good parts. Life is supposed to flow rather than happen in fits and starts. We can’t skip any of it — not the aggravation nor the grief. No skipping chapters in real life.
This past week was everything a finals week could be: Students missing finals because I told them the wrong time, students sleeping in, potential academic dishonesty (it wasn’t), a good annual review, a lovely lunch with my colleagues, plants coming into the mail to remind me that there will be gardens … a great finals week.
Now for the existential crisis
I can’t postpone my confrontation with my writing any longer. I make excuses: I have to make a batch of bokashi to raise my compost game. After the semester, I should take a break.
No, it’s going to happen now. I’m going to confront my feelings about writing right here and now.
This is the first issue for me as a writer: who I am. I write fantasy with some relationship elements. I write fantasy romance.
Most of what I have let out to the public, however (as opposed to most of what I’ve written) is the fantasy romance Kringle Chronicles. Those books are fun, relaxing, and put me in the holiday mood.
The problem is that I am not a romance writer. I have hung out with romance writers, and they talk about (in harmony) things I do not at all want to read or write: alpha males, shape-shifters, explicit sex scenes (I’m not anti-sex, I’m anti-unrealistic-sex), BDSM, and just everything over the top.
It’s about fantasies. And I can fantasize a lot about things, to where I’ve had my writing considered very original, but I want my relationships to be reasonably, well, healthy. I want my readers to think about the possible.
And this is where the crisis starts
We writers are told to write from the heart. My heart, whether in fantasy or romance, wants the people to be real and complex. In my fantasies, we have realistic characters thrown into fantastic situations. In my romance, same thing, except that the developing relationship is the primary plot point.
And I’m not sure what I’m doing sells. People apparently want alpha werewolves who are deadly but just and protective toward their mate, who until they showed up was the bullied and rejected waif (this is the synopsis of about 14 novels advertised to me on Facebook).
The crisis is that I can’t write this.
I write with the attitude that the alpha werewolf and the beleaguered waif don’t need a story. They’ve had a story for millennia. If I’m going to write Cinderella, I’m going to write it in a way that someone hasn’t done before — Cinderella is a librarian who has nothing but hard work and her garden, until a mysterious neighbor named Dane Prince sweeps her off her feet — but then she has to save him from the land of Faerie. (Actually, I am writing that story — it’s one story I’ve taken a break from).
But that’s the lingering feeling. I don’t know if the world needs my stories. I don’t know if I care about that, if my stories are good. If I found out that my stories nourished people, but the stories that sold were popcorn stories, I would want to keep writing nourishing stories.
But I don’t even know if my stories are nourishing, because I’ve had trouble selling them.
Which brings me to the other thing: marketing
I don’t sell books because I am terrible at marketing. I am terrible at bringing myself to carry out the strategies of marketing and pretty bad at the strategies themselves. Post on Twitter 12x/day? Write an interesting newsletter? An eye-catching visual on Instagram? Heaven forbid, a video on Tik tok?
Again, I write what my heart tells me to, and I’m afraid it’s boring.
What it boils down to
I know what this boils down to: I think too much, and more than anything, I think I’m boring. If anyone has a solution to that, let me know.
That’s not quite right. Ennui is boredom and so much more! It’s being bored and tired at once!
What more could I ask for?
As it turns out, I could ask for a whole lot more, because ennui results from a lack of excitement. And, it turns out, that’s where I am right now. I’m bored with editing. There’s nothing really happening in my life except an upcoming cataract surgery, and even my writing isn’t piquing my interest.
Whatever will I do?
There’s lots of things I can do. Change my scenery, whether local or out-of-town. Find novel experiences. Find something new to write. Find something gripping to read.
Words Like Me 