Take a Deep Breath and Step Away from the Work-In-Progress
Listening to: No Doubt – Rock Steady
Mood: Patient
*I’m posting a day early since I won’t be around tomorrow*
I’ve decided I need to take a break. Not from writing in general, but from my current WIP Gothic Horror. And not a break like I’m completely stopping, more as in I have other projects that are demanding my attention right now and as much as I’d like to dive deeply into Chy and Ricochet’s (my Horror MC’s) twisted little world, I can’t. I still plan on devoting time weekly to it, just not as much as I normally would to a manuscript right now.
The truth is that I haven’t been as aggressive as I should be with getting BLOODBIRD out into the world. After all the time and energy I’ve spent on the ms, and the love I’ve poured into each word, I owe it to Faida, Tariq, and Striker (and myself) to get it into the right hands. My CP loved the story, my beta readers praised it, editors said great and supportive things about it, and even an agent (who doesn’t rep UF) told me it was fantastic and she knows it will find the perfect home. The only explanation for why I have been dragging my feet on sending it out is time, plain and simple.
TIME, which I do not have enough of. But seriously, who does?
Over the past several months I completed a YA Fantasy, THE BURNING SKY, that I couldn’t stop writing. I mean, it refused to leave my headspace. It has a Middle Eastern type setting and I got lost in it for months, the world I created making it impossible to stop until I typed the last word. I also edited the hell out of BLOODBIRD and got it into a fantastic place. I love this story so freakin’ much. I want to share it with the world. But if I stop here and do nothing else—with a polished ms that I’m crazy about sitting in a drawer—I’ll never get to where I want to go. So by taking a step back from my current WIP, I can give BLOODBIRD a proper send out and work on THE BURNING SKY edits that have already started filtering in from my brilliant CP.
I’m 100% okay with taking a break because I’m not in a rush to finish my new WIP. The story will still spin around in my head and I won’t be dropping it completely, only writing at a much slower cadence than my norm. I just need space to focus on other things. I need to catch my breath from the breakneck pace I’ve been in all year and devote time to my two completed mss. They deserve all of my attention right now, so I will gladly give it to them.
And just for some random fun, because I’m in a sharing kind of mood, here’s a snippet from BLOODBIRD:
The armchair reminded me of the one in the fortress’s library where I used to spend all my time reading as a youngling. The high wingback seemed shorter than I remembered, but it still managed to calm my erratic nerves.
The surrounding starluster walls, also reminiscent of the fortress, were a different story. The cramped cell had no windows or doors. My skin itched with its oppressiveness.
If it wasn’t for my mother sitting across from me and my axe on a wooden table between us, I would’ve thought the X Squad had finally captured me.
“Where am I?” I asked, finally noticing I wore the same dress from my dinner with Christian.
It seemed like a million years ago now.
My mother tilted her head to the side, long red-streaked black hair cascading over her shoulders. Her piercing eyes narrowed. “Where do you think you are?”
“I haven’t a fucking clue.” I was in no mood for this ambiguous bullshit. My head beat a staccato right between my eyes.
“If you can’t figure things out for yourself, Faida, you’ll never get out of here alive.”
“Right. Fine, whatever.” I attempted to push to my feet but couldn’t move my legs. Nothing visible held me down. Still, no matter how much I twisted and fought, I couldn’t rise even an inch.
“You’ve grown,” mother said, her expression suddenly sad.
I sighed, wiping a palm over my face. “You’ve been dead thirteen years, mom. Of course I’ve grown.”
“And you’ve become such a strong and skilled warrior. I couldn’t be more proud.”
She said things I’d always wished my mother was still around to tell me, causing a sharp twinge in my chest.
“You’re not really here,” I said, giving up my struggle against the invisible forces holding me down to lean forward and fold my hands atop the table.
She smiled. “No, of course not.”
