My Friend Jack

My friend Jack has reared his ugly head once again gentle readers...as in, I don't know Jack. Some of you may be unfamiliar with this phrase, it means... I don't know ANYTHING.

Questions from the past posts on being smaht and what makes us, me in particular, smaht, don't seem to cut the mustard anymore. (I'm full of cliches today, sorry.) I've been blogging around and have read some absolutely phenomenol stories, clips, snippets of work by other people and I am just so wholly down-hearted. It's not that I don't like my work, my stories anymore, it's just that they're just not smaht enough. Perhaps it's my genre -- historical romance -- some consider that FLUFF. Perhaps it's the way I can't tell one POV from another. I don't know. Maybe it's because I was so hyped up on the partial request that now I'm in the bewilderment stage, wondering if and when they're going to get around to reading it. Maybe I'm heading for PMS again. Who knows. (This whole menopause thing is killing me. Sorry all you men out there.) I mean, for God's sake, I spelled segue wrong yesterday, although I do blame it on the fact it was 6am when I wrote that and only had one cup of caffeine in me and so didn't bother to look it up, but...c'mon, that's just dumb. I know how to spell it. What is wrong with me?

I'm just feeling stupid these days. I'm feeling like I should go back to the restaurant and hang up my pen. I'm feeling like being a quitter. However my stubborn Taurean self won't let me until I have completely wrung this bad boy out for everything it's worth. Do you feel like this? Is it just me? I know it's not, I've read enough blogs that we writers go through this crazy "I'm not good enough" phase. When does it end?

It also could be that I got into a blog where the woman said it took her seven years to be published. SEVEN FREAKING YEARS. I can't wait that long. I just can't. I have patience, I'm a Taurus, but my patience wears thin after awhile. I know I'm supposed to be writing my second book and I am (blissfully this morning Small One was back at school and I wrote almost 2000 words) but I'm having trouble with it because I have to do research...and I hate research in the middle of writing, it slows me down. I want to write it and be done with it. But I can't.

I apologize for being such a bummer today but I can't be all shiny happy all the time. It's not in me. I was born a pessimist. And Jack has come knocking once again.

My question to you gentle readers is...what the heck do you do when you feel like this? And does chocolate really help?

Jack

As in...

I don't know....I don't have...I can't write....

It's been a long time. First it was the holiday, then it was the Small One's birthday, then it was the Mommies Club meeting...and so here I am.

It's funny, I find when I'm not writing I complain about it, but then when I do have the time to write, I don't. Over the course of the last however-long-it's-been, I've had hours, free time, breaks in my life where I could have sat down and plodded through something. But I didn't. I don't know why. I am ashamed of myself. This is supposed to be my occupation, what kind of an employee does that make me if I can't even sit down when I'm supposed to?

However, big fat however, I have been reading, blogs mostly, because where else can I possibly find people who discuss books and writing, and I think for the most part, I am not alone. There are other people out there, just like me, struggling to write, making time, finding time, giving up certain time. I totally envy those that can plow through chapters in a weekend, totally am jealous over those that find their muse at 4:30 in the morning and write before work, totally hate those that say, "I just finished my second book". I really hate those people. Okay, I take it back, I don't hate you, I'm just so desirous for a shot at being published, the green-eyed monster is eating at me.

As with all this time off, I've been thinking too, about how long it takes to actually write. I started the first book in October 08. I finished the first draft in July 09. I set it aside for a month and worked on the revisions during Sept/Oct. So, all in all, it took me about a year to write a book. In my genre, authors tend to write 2 or 3 books a year. How? I ask you how? Do you not have a life? Do you not have kids, dogs, parents, do you live in a vaccuum?

I have to ask myself is it because of the upcoming holidays? Do I think I'm wasting my time on my book when I could be baking cookies or creating holiday cheer? Spending time with my daughter waiting for Santa? I don't know.

Or is it simply because a round full of rejections told me I can't write. So why bother. Or maybe because a very good friend told me I would never be published if I wasn't a celebrity. (Yes, I am still reeling over that one) Or maybe because my own vanity got me in this in the first place and now I find I'm really just a hack.
I don't know.

What I'd really like, kind of crave actually, is a professional critique of my work. I've searched the web and have found a few sights that could help but only for a query or a chapter. I'd like a real person, real feedback. It's hard living in a one-horse town where no one reads or can even comprehend the true English language. (I kid you not.)

So, gentle reader, after telling you all my troubles, I feel much better, but I still don't know Jack.