Last year when I took a break from writing for a time, part of the reason was that I didn't know what to write about. I didn't have a story, an idea, an issue, that called to me the way my four published books (and a few unpublished ones) had. I wasn't burning to say anything in particular.
And so silence really was what I needed then.
Finally I wrote a book, the only book I could write then, the first thing I'd been driven to write in a while. I even had hope that others might want to read it eventually.
probably heard stories like this before: writer has slump, writer
flounders, writer turns inward and writes from the heart, writer
produces great story that brings acclaim.
This isn't one of
those. Because the book I wrote then turned out not to be ready for
prime time. After I considered the feedback, it didn't seem salvageable,
and more than that, I was no longer interested in trying. The fever in
which I wrote that book had broken.
Its destiny is to be a trunk
novel, but that book did what it needed to do, which was to break the
logjam. To get something out of my system. To help me on to the next
story, and the next. Since then I have been writing more and more, both
short- and long-form pieces.
Not a word was wasted.