Here's my inspiration picture for my latest WIP. This is Irish vampire and sometime Lord of the Rings dwarf, Aidan Turner. But in my mind he's also a handsome (And yes furry) Irish wolf-shifter who wakes up in Vegas to a big surprise... I really enjoyed writing this one.
Don't you love completing a task and having the satisfaction of standing back and saying, "I love what I just did."
A sense of completion is one of the best feelings in the world. A few minutes before I posted this blog I finished a short wolf-shifter romp set in Vegas. Instead of my usual anguished, doubt-ridden dash to the finish line, I slowed down and enjoyed the writing. I fell in love with the characters and walked into their world with my heart and imagination wide open.
This is something new to me and something I promised myself I would start doing. I want to enjoy everything important that I do and writing is very important to me.
As most of you who check in with Seven Sexy Scribes already know, I was my late sister's caregiver. In her last days, we shared a lot. I encouraged her to talk and unburden herself. It was hard to listen to some of her regrets. One of her biggest regrets was that she never allowed herself the pleasure of writing without dumping so much self-criticism into the mix that she rarely wrote more than a few pages before abandoning an idea. This was a woman who was a great lover of words and voracious reader. She had a huge collection of antique fountain pens, ink wells, and elegant handmade journals with nothing written in them. Beautiful sacred tools too precious to use. Christy was convinced writing had to be painful and self-destruction. Someone told her that all writers must sacrifice themselves to what she referred to as "The Cult of Cruelty" and she believed it.
"The Cult of Cruelty" doesn't sound like much fun does it? Christy didn't know if the cult even existed, who was in it, or what they might do to a novice author once they were identified, yet the concept was more effective than any boogeyman could ever be in frightening her into giving up before she even started.
In the end, when she was high as a kite on morphine, she blurted, "Why didn't I just enjoy writing? What the hell was I thinking?" I held her hand and cried. I told her, "Grow thicker skin. Come back and try again." We both laughed with relief when I said. "Maybe writing is meant to be fun."
This was one of Christy greatest gifts to me. She made me realize how important my writing was to my mental health and sense of purpose. Writing is my fun time and safe retreat into my cosmic treehouse. I refuse to ruin or pollute the experience with over-critical drama and crappola.
This autumn has been all about playing catch up on months of lost work. I'll start the self-edits of my latest WIP next week. Meanwhile, I have two more manuscripts to finish before December and I'm going to love every day of writing.