… is not an option.
When I finished Camp NaNoWriMo with a win pulled out with three whole hours to spare, I just sort of sat at the computer and stared at the screen and said, “Now what?”
For the last 30 days my mind had been constantly wrapped around writing 2000 words a day – or figuring out how many words a day I needed to write on my days off to catch up to where I should be. And especially the last three days when I was overcoming a 15,000 word deficit.
But then it was over and all of a sudden there was a huge void in my life.
It wasn’t that I didn’t have anything to write. I still haven’t finished book two of The Other Mages trilogy (maybe next Camp…) and I still need to write the alternate (originally planned) version of book one of the Trilogy-Without-A-Name, and, of course, there are the rest of the books in the Academy of the Accord series, especially since I was just handed the solution to plot problems for two of them.
And I still had my 1K-a-Day goal (which I am, sadly, already behind on).
Not to mention there are other hobbies that tried very hard to distract me during April.
And, of course, there was the sense that I should probably find the shreds of the rest of my life and try to weave them back together. (At least, I thought I vaguely remembered having one.)
So, I posted something to FaceBook about this sense of not knowing what to do with myself now and some of my friends suggested that I take a break for a while and not write.
Can you imagine?
That just… is not an option.
At first there was panic. What would I do if I wasn’t writing? I can’t not write! I have word count goals! I have stories to tell! I have stuff to finish this year! I have to write!
And that is what it boils down to.
I have to write.
I need to write.
Not writing is not an option.
I think I might be addicted.