Inspiration

It’s not where inspiration comes from, but rather when.

I have four main folders on my desktop. “Working Drafts” and “Published” are fairly self-explanatory, the other two are easily understood if you’ve seen The Princess Bride.

“The Dragon’s Hoard” is where my finished works go. Before my Self-Publishing era that file was beyond depressing to look at. I released six last year to get at least a few things moving, but I still have an overwhelming fear that I will become the next V.C Andrews.

“The Pit of Despair” is the last file. The file where dreams go to die. I write down all my concepts from incomprehensible musing of fading dreams to six page outlines that manifested themselves at the wrong time.

As a prolific writer, it should be easy to just pick a concept and get to work, but it doesn’t work that way. For me, writing books is like being pregnant. A concept is conceived and hopefully it burrows in and grows into a full novel that becomes a labor of love in those last few chapters. Sometimes I become super excited about a concept only to run out of steam 30 thousand words in. Other times, like The Cuckoo’s Nest, I don’t even have a fully formed concept in my mind but it grows.

Writing is an active process and it should feel like I have more control, but I don’t.

Some writers will tell you to write every day or whatever, I don’t agree with that. The reason I average two full length novels a year is because I don’t force it. I let my inspiration motivate me and propel me forward and if it doesn’t work, it doesn’t work.

I’ve been on a semi-writing hiatus. I tried to pick up an old concept and fiddle with it but there’s zero interest. Mainly I was poking at it out of boredom and paranoia that I might have writer’s block, but I know that’s not the case. I can feel it. Creeping along the back of my skull like something I forgot to do, is a new concept.

Now, just what it is, or where it comes from, could be anyone’s guess.