My Journal

August 22 (Thursday)

Uh-oh.  Writer’s blues.

The first time I finished a book, Dragon’s Heart, all I felt was excitement and triumph: I’d done it!  I’d finally finished!  Editing, revising, finishing, publishing, all that shabang was just another note on the horn of victory.  That book was really just about me fulfilling my dream (but that’s another story).  This time around it’s not so fun.  Because, thanks to my developed and matured writing skills, I’ve created some amazing characters and plots, and loved every minute of it (well, okay, there were writer’s blocks where I would have killed to be done, but that’s beside the point).  I’m seriously in love with my main characters.  I’m not joking.  I love them.  And now they’re gone.  They still speak to me in those pages, but now I’m done writing their story and I can’t explore them as I used to.  I know I’m going to read it all again (20+ times) and probably do more big chapter rewrites.  I get all that.  But there’s a finality in this good-bye that I can’t ignore or shake off.  I’m excited to share these best friends of mine with the world, but my heart sure is taking this whole ‘the end’ thing hard.  I’ll write sequels and have more adventures, but it’ll never be the same.  “How do you pick up the threads of an old life? How do you go on, when in your heart, you begin to understand, there is no going back? There are some things that time cannot mend. Some hurts that go too deep…that have taken hold.”

Ah.  There it is.  The fly in the ointment.

I’ve actually tried writing the sequel.  Of course I’m meeting the usual challenges.  It’s been awhile since I’ve written from scratch, and I guess all this editing has softened me.  But, horror of all horrors, what’s really discouraged me is that the characters aren’t themselves.  I try and they just come off as someone else.  Granted, there’s been a lot of changes in their lives, not least of all their relationship, changes that mean it must be approached as if new.  But just when I’m trying to detach myself from the old book and comfort myself with a new project with my best buds, I can’t find them.  I’ve lost them somewhere in the transition.  It’s like Captain Kirk losing Spock and McCoy while they were beaming up; all that’s left of them is a scattered pattern of atoms.  I know I’ll get through this and find writer’s joy again, but right now this is really tough.  I’d give anything to get back aboard the Enterprise (no bloody A, B, C, or D) and relive those old times.

Beam me up, Scotty.