Each week I try to take some time off from writing to give myself a break and clear my head. I know this is a good strategy, but like an addict I start jonesing when I’m not happily tap, tap, tapping away, sending sentences across my virtual paper.
You have to realize my position as an author. I have two manuscripts going at the same time. The first is volume IV in my RISING TIDE series. I felt like I needed a break from this sequence of books, so I began a standalone sci-fi/fantasy novel to fill this sabbatical.
Because of my selfishness, I have allowed characters left in my charge to undergo needless trauma. They’ve been left hanging for an extended period of time. There are men and women in dire straits not knowing if they have a future–whether or not they are going to live or die, and even worse, what has happened to the one who holds their fate on the tips of his fingers.
There are characters in the book I am writing now, some in the very throes of destruction when I go to bed each night–that live in terror wondering, when or even if, I will return to give their life meaning. It’s such a struggle knowing I am responsible for the lives of so many; however, books must be written. This in and of itself gives me great comfort. I now know I am not alone. There are scores of concerned authors battling this injustice . . . I think I’d better stop right there. This is getting way too melodramatic . . . Nuff said.