Not writing books

Not writing a book is almost unbearably weird.

I went to read a little of The Grey Road and draw red lines through words and paragraphs that offended me -- kind of sidling up next to a bit of revision, so it shouldn't count per se -- and found that I have two copies of it here. And my initial thought (maybe I should blush to admit this) was, "Oh, good! Now I can write another book and stick it in this binder!" I assure you that we are not in such dire financial circumstances nor so cramped in this house that this was the sticking point on starting another book in earnest.

The worst of it is, it's not even as though a specific book is pressing at my brain. I've held them all at arm's length for awhile fairly successfully. No. It's not that I'm not writing a specific book that's driving me nuts. It's that I'm not writing a book at all.

I have 3000 words on "Singing Them Back." It feels like about 500. What this means is that this is a long short form -- a sizeable novelette or probably a novella. Shouldn't this be enough? Apparently not, no. It isn't a novel. It isn't the same. What my brain wants is not "large project" but "novel." And until it gets one, it just keeps darting around hopefully.

It feels like I'm trying to make it stay in too small a room. I don't see any reason why I should have some kind of writerly claustrophobia, because there isn't anywhere I'm stopping short stories from going because of length considerations. It's just...the novel thing. Pressing on me. Wigglesquirm.

I spent the morning running around shopping and having fun with my mom. She was on a mission for Scandostuff, so we went to Ingebretsen's and Ikea, and I introduced her to Turtle Bread and Pumphouse Creamery. Now I'm going to take a friend to the doctor. Perhaps by the time I'm done with that and have made dinner, I'll be able to convince the brain that it's time to work on the lovely topology and fantasy stuff in "Singing Them Back" instead of just petting the necklace. Stranger things have happened.

More on not writing books

I haven't been clear on this, I don't think. It's not that I couldn't write a novel right now. It's not that I don't have ideas, outlines, characters/plots/conceits/settings/etc. that excite me. I am full to the brim with them. I barely have room to move in here (that would be inside my head) due to the volume of novel ideas, and I can play with many of them for a couple thousand words at the drop of a hat. One of them is already about a third done.

No, what's going on here is that I am deliberately trying not to start seriously working on a novel right now.

Because in addition to all those ideas and outlines and thises and thats, I have a novel (Thermionic Night) that is currently working its way through alpha readers. After that will be revisions. Then beta readers. Then revisions. Then submission to an editor (I already know which one, and if she's not the right person for this book after all, I will cry -- I'll move on and submit it elsewhere, but I think I know who ought to see it first, and if I've done what I want to with this book I think she'll like it).

I also have the completed rough draft of another novel, currently called Sampo but possibly being renamed. Since it's the sequel to the aforementioned Thermionic Night, I can't productively revise it (to give to alpha readers, revise, give to beta readers, and revise) until I've got TN into something closer to its final mode.

And in addition to that, I have four stand-alone novels and the sequel to one of those four sitting on the desks of three different editors waiting for attention of various hopeful kinds.

As a result, I am extremely reluctant to start the draft of another book right exactly now, when I'm hoping my alpha readers will be getting back to me within the next month. I don't want to get going and then stop again, and I don't want to put off revisions on TN because I'm caught up in something new, because that's not very productive behavior. As a result, not starting a novel right now seems like the right plan in every way.

Every way except the "my brain is going to implode and/or start gibbering" way. I'm not sure when that starts trumping other logic. At a certain point what I "should" be able to do or refrain from doing in my writing is not as relevant as what I can do or refrain from doing.

You know about inertia. Well, even as tired as I am right now, I am naturally a Body In Motion, not a Body At Rest. And the Motion is in some pretty specific directions, and I'm just not sure how this will work.

I hope that makes some sense. If it doesn't, go ahead and ask.