Why am I like this?

You'll never guess what happened last night as I was trying to drift off to sleep. Never ever. Never. 

*ahem*

ANOTHER book idea. 😒

Dear. Lordt.

Good news? My creativity has decided to make a guest appearance.

Bad news? Um...I already have at least three projects...*snort* AT LEAST...to work on.

But am I completely enamored with this idea? Fuck yes, of course I am. 😑

Great premise. Awesome characters. 💃💃💃🖕

The timing is exquisite, right? With all this free time and nothing else to do. 😶😂

So here I am this morning. Sitting at my desk. Fans on high because Oklahoma is trying to bake me. Brain actually firing on the creative side. Water at the ready. And...unsure of what to do.

Start on ANOTHER effing book??? Because I know I could easily bang out at least 4,000 words on it today?

Or work on "Out of the Shadows" which may or may not work out, depending on if I can get in the groove on it or not? 

This some bullshit.

Wish me luck. Just going to throw myself in a trench and see where I land.

Did I mention I have TWO book conferences in August???

I'm a hazard to myself.

*******

Age old question for writers...

...plotter or pantser?

Let me tell you. I'd read tea leaves, if they told a good story. 😂

But seriously, I've tried to plot a story. It's not for me. I don't even wish it were for me. And I'll tell you why. I write by clicks. When I write, it's like a massive set of dominoes that's been set up. I start when the first domino falls.

If ever a domino doesn't fall, I've lost my click. I'm off the path. I stop. Find my way back. Begin again. Push the domino down and continue. 

I've added elements in a novel that I consciously didn't know where in the hell they came from, only to have them swoop back in, to perfectly make sense two-hundred pages later. When that happens?

Oh. You can't tell me NOTHING. 🥳 

I admire those that plot. You have your entire story all worked out. Plot points. The whole she-bang. You're amazing. 

I honestly don't think I could do it even under threat of harm. 🤔

Case in point, I have a scene, a HUGE SCENE, in "Out of the Shadows" that I've written three times, in three different ways.

If you guessed I'm writing it today, in a new and different way, you'd be correct. This version is going in the final manuscript. It fits better. I'm constantly trying to improve on what I do and how I do it. My brain is constantly running 100 meter sprints like an idiot, and I can't get the damn thing to stop. And I'm also working on other projects that my grey matter deems important at two something in the morning because WHY NOT? 😶

I don't like the word "pantser" because I feel that's not representative of me and who I am as a writer. Never much liked pigeonholes, anyway. So, I'm going to say I'm a mood writer. Because THAT has everything to do with what's coming out of the brain and through the fingertips.

Maybe I'm a moody writer.

Maybe this is going downhill fast.

Always writing*

It's all coming back to me now...

...well, not all. 

But as I tried to sleep last night, it wasn't chaotic thoughts, per usual, that filled my head, but dialogue.

Blessed dialogue. More specifically, dialogue from Canary: Out of the Shadows. 🥹 

I nearly got out of bed to jot it down, but I didn't. The two scenes were dynamic enough, I knew I wouldn't forget them. 

It's like being in the silence so long and finally hearing a whisper. 

It was...everything.

I haven't touched a Word .docx in probably a month. I'm too author-fragile right now to check. It'll only reinforce the issue more, and I am merely flapping my wings a bit over here. Getting the wind under them again. Feeling how smooth it can be. Remembering.

Going to hop over to OneNote and put the dialogue and scenes in. They're Ray being...Ray. 😄 

Poor woman doesn't know what's on the horizon. None of them do. 

But dark things have waited so long for a chance to play. 

Back to writing*