I made three decisions about my writing while I was tossing and turning until 5 a.m. this morning (possibly later, but I clearly remember looking at the clock at 5:02).

First, I need to finish editing the mystery that has been languishing on my desk for over a year.  I’ve worked on it in fits and starts, but that’s no way to preserve continuity or get the job done.  Granted, I’m talking more than basic grammar and structure errors here-- there are some pretty serious plot flaws to fix (or I could just sell it as a screen play since no one in Hollywood seems to mind plot holes big enough to drive a truck through), but I know it’s all fixable and it’s a pretty good story.  I just need to dedicate my time to it-- at least a month, but probably no more than two-- and get it circulating.

Second, I need to write about my childhood if for no one else but myself.  I’m thinking a series of essays loosely linked.  Whether it would be saleable or not (or whether I’d even want to sell it or not) is up for debate, but I think I’d probably benefit from getting it down on paper.  It would be good therapy (and who couldn’t use a little therapy, hmm?) as well as making me a better writer by forcing me to write honestly about my own life. 

Third, I need to start writing a new book and get back on the path I want to be with my writing.  Much as I love writing (and selling, let’s not forget selling) other things, I want to write novels.  So, while I lay there trying to sleep this morning, I began plotting a new book.  I started writing it this afternoon and am well into the first chapter.  This is good.  This makes me happy.  That’s what it’s all about.

See, there are some benefits to being an insomniac on a caffeine high.

Posted by Kristina in Writing at 05:55 PM Permalink