I have been writing a ton lately. This new story is feeding my muse non-stop. It feels so good to be captivated by a story again. The setting is in my head, and it's become an imaginary escape for me, which makes me want to stay in it all the time.
So different from the other story I was writing last fall. I would have moments of inspiration and excitement with that one, but it was quite a labor to write and be motivated to work on it. I spent more time sitting with my head in my hands than moving my fingers across the keyboard. It wasn't an escape for me.
But sometimes you don't recognize the slump until you're up on the hill again. Not until I was struck with this new story did I see how un-struck I was with the other one. I kept wondering why I didn't feel like I did when writing Sherlock Academy. I kept thinking it was just because this was something different, and nothing would ever compare to Sherlock Academy.
I was wrong. This new story compares to Sherlock Academy only in how I feel towards it. And yes, it has to do with the story, but it also has to do with my involuntary response to it.
Around New Year's Michael asked me if I was happy. He was afraid that I wasn't. It was a poignant question that I didn't stop to think about until he asked it. At first I couldn't put my finger on the reason I might be unhappy. I had a wonderful husband and child, a lovely house, good friends and church, I was teaching art and using my gifts. But there was an unhappy element in my life, and I couldn't just blame it on our quest to conceive another baby.
Then it hit me: I was unhappy in my writing. (This was before I got my new story idea). I realized my writing and the current story I was working on were no longer an imaginary escape for me, and I was having a hard time finding joy in it.
Thank God that changed!