Tag Archives: author

Books, writing

ten years…this year

Ten years ago, I decided to write a book. A book based upon this blog. I even took all the pictures on my phone. My first book, the yellow one, was an interesting entry into the world of self publishing. The Yellow One and the Green one, remain two of the most popular books. (all right, the reviews for the green one, say otherwise.)

That was how my writing journey started. I was new, naive to the whole world of writing and especially that of being a self-published Indie Author. A lot has changed since then. There are certainly more books, there have been lots of book-related adventures too. Writing books set in Montana, has led to adventures there. There lots of book adventures scheduled for this year. I am going to reflect as these will continue in the future, and what other avenues I might need to consider about making sure my stories are out there for readers to find.

I’ve learned a lot of the self-publishing indie universe, about books and the challenges that come with writing and marketing. The market is huge, diverse and there stories for everyone about anything. There’s a lot to reflect upon in approaching ten years this summer.

I don’t profess to be perfect, or a rock star, for that matter. I am eternally grateful whenever a reader chooses to pick up a book and invest in it. I’ve lots of notebooks, lots of stories; all waiting for me to attend to them.

Let’s see if these actually happen.

Taking stock

At a loss for words

saucemagnoliajapanesegarden

 

At this moment in time, I am at a loss for words.

Ordinarily, be it at work, when blogging,  writing; I could waffle. I daresay, I could probably waffle for England. The hitting of a payload, a torrent of words and inspiration, does tend to be hard to stop. I experience it as un-brookable sensation, my brain is aflame with my handwriting only just keeping up with the daydreams wanting exit my imagination.

Words tumble;the whole thing is a emotional, psychological cascade. A torrent of things that might not have even been in my consciousness. To this day, I can’t read bits of Fragments, I remember my own pain.

In stark contrast then, is the barrenness of not writing. The overwhelming swirling of tumbleweed and screeching carrion birds in a desert.

I do have a list. I have a stack, in fact, of notebooks; each one has a list of things to write for that particular creating. So it’s not as though I have a block, as though The Muse-whatever form that creature takes-and I have deserted each other. The Muse has done what needs to be done, and gone off to where ever they are needed.

It is the impetus, the bounce and flow, the mojo that has gone.

At this moment in time, it’s actually difficult to look a the books. The ‘to-write’ lists make no sense to me. They may as well be written in a different language.

I think I need a rest.  Life has, after all, been rather busy.  Six books, a Bollywood wedding, a diploma in therapeutic counselling are all going to have an effect. As is not being in a stable teaching post. I have done, experienced, been part of one hell of an adventure. It is impossible for me to negate any of that; it has made me the woman, the person, the author that I am.

The diploma is now over-Just waiting for the certificate!  I am also thinking, about what the next phase of the counselling journey might involve. No idea what is happening on the teaching front; the end of the summer, would mark ten years as an educator.

That in itself, is special. I want to make it that far! Teaching has also been a journey in it’s own right.

I do feel a loss; as though I should be doing something, However, there is that small voice. The tiniest squeak, that is saying no. Something isn’t right, something hangs in the air; writing is not what I want, need,to do at this moment in time.

This, is voice, that I need to listen to. I also need, somehow, to accept, that the writing is paused. This is horribly difficult, when it has been a part of me for such a long time. I’ve enjoyed it; writing really is a facet of me. The thought of writing rubbish-whatever that might be-also crossed my mind. It’s been dismissed a couple of time. I want to value what I write, I want it to have some importance.

Self-care is the big thing here. To look after myself, nourish the elements within that have become depleted.

Who knows. Perhaps the words will come back.

Eventually.