Okay. Reluctantly I return to your regular programming and will desist from celebrating the Seahawks Super Bowl win.
"Normally", writing produces two things: either a desire to be alone or a desire to break out and socialize after being alone. There are media-savvy writers, marketing-mogul-type authors, and there are recluses who want nothing in life but the hours to devote to creating with words.
I can tell you firsthand I don't mind being in the solitary trenches creating characters and situations. I don't mind making blog posts most of the time. I love reading, although I don't think I've finished a novel in the entire months of December and January which must be a new record for me over the last several years.
The last few days I've restarted the editing process on what I have so far in my mystery titled Race. Of course I've reread it so many times, but I've waited long enough - far too long actually - for it to feel new all over again. And . . . I like it. Which is good. I'm catching up to where I need to be to re-engage the writing process and hopefully finish this book.
I wrote a blog post about the fear involved with this one: that nagging fear of making a serious mistake in procedural details that would lead to smart readers discovering how little I really know about how murder is investigated. I've had terrific assistance from a former detective who now works in SWAT. And another resource has recently been made available to me. I couldn't ask for better help.
Since I took a considerable amount of time off from writing novels after completing my seventh book, I started three stories but haven't finished one of them. It's time. Past time. Now time. It takes discipline, and the only discipline I've practiced has been posting on this blog. I made it a priority. Whether or not that was a good idea, I don't regret it. It seemed the right thing to do.
The normalcy of writing a book requires time specifically given - some would say "allotted" but I don't work like that - to the process. My normal doesn't often mesh with that of other writers. To each his own. But I know what I need to do, and I'm praying I'll dig in and accomplish the task. Because I know I'm supposed to, and that makes it compelling.
So . . . this is me being "normal". Sort of.
Father, you're the only one who can help me get this done. Apart from you, I can do nothing. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.