Sabbatical...

When I started writing "Inhuman" "Blessed Are The Dead That The Rain Falls Upon" "Suffer the Shildren" "Blessed Are The Dead That The Rain Falls Upon" for New Ceres Nights last year, I was a writing machine. Nay, a writing god. I was churning out stories at a speed I'd never imagined before, on the heels of the novel-in-17-days experiment of November. I was unstoppable.

A few days ago, I completed the last few edits on "BATDTTRFU" (awkward acronym or what???). In the intervening time, my inspiration levels have dropped a tad. And, by "a tad", I mean completely. For the first time in ages, I feel... emptied. No plots circling my consciousness, no ideas for books or stories niggling at me. Just... nothing.

Now, I could just force myself to write something, anything, to get back into the swing of it. That's what a professional author would do, a workaday writer, a nine-to-five wordsmith.

But, you know what? That ain't me.

I'm hereby on a writing sabbatical. Until the sparks start to fly again, I think I'll just sit back and relax, take the time to smell the roses. It helps that there aren't any big projects looming at the moment, as my favourite editors seem to be taking a similar breather, at least in terms of publications I could submit to (you know who you are, all of ya's!). I already have six stories supposedly upcoming this year, so there's no big panic to get my numbers up.

I'm going to have a little rest. I think I've deserved it.

What? Is this me trying reverse psychology on myself yet again? No, not at all.... though, of course, if it works...