Everyone loves a writer writing about not writing, right?
I spent 16 months in New Zealand and only recently returned to the United States. I did not expect to return when I did, under the circumstances I returned, back to the same town where I did my medical training – and here I am, about to do my pre-employment meetings for a new old job. I find myself masked, sitting in a café where I used to do a lot of my writing. The world is much as I left it, except in all the ways it isn’t.
I released Brothers in Arms, my first novella (and essentially book 2.5 of the series) after a too-long hiatus, in 2020. One of the hallowed keys of independent authoring is frequent releases and self-promotion, neither of which are my forte. Come to thinking of it, writing in any form is not exactly my forte these days, subsumed by work, academic publishing, and general life happenings.
I think to myself, Maybe I should try a different story? or, Maybe if I just free write for a while… but the unfinished trilogy, with its hanging plot threads begging to be tied up, demands attention. Until it is finished it does not feel possible to move on. The task is daunting. There are many subplots to resolve, some obvious in the text and some less-obvious, and giving a “cast of thousands” each their due is not an easy proposition. It requires more planning than I like as a seat-of-the-pants style writer, and leads me to understanding the challenges of writers who struggle with (or, according to public opinion, “botch”) their conclusions.
This will be the year for many things – including, I hope, completing the draft of the final installment.