I’ve just spent three months working five to six full days a week, sometimes late into the night, to finish revision work on my current work-in-progress. After a conference call and some brain-storming, I knew what I needed and wanted to do. What started out as a few changes and tweaks turned into a major re-write. I love these characters and want readers to love them, too. But I was also trying to do an allegory, and in some cases, two in particular, the people were just too perfect. Real people have lots of flaws. Now the characters do, too.
After Rick made his changes to the manuscript and those were put into the computer, I sent off the files to my agent, Danielle, who used her magic to put them all together in one nice big file before sending it off to Tyndaleans.
Done! Finally! I felt relief. For about half a day. And then this black hole began to open in front of me. Now what? When I’ve been pushing hard and then the work is finished (until I get the editorial letter of more possible needs to strengthen the story), there is a feeling of… I don’t know. I’m a writer and can’t put words to it.
I never assume there is another book inside me. Not that I don’t have lots of ideas – I have a fat file full of ideas. But is that what God wants me to do with my time this time around? He took writing away from me once before – for good reasons. So I don’t take it for granted I’m going to dive right into another project. Frankly, the one idea that circles in my head is not a road I want to walk down. Too painful. Too dark. Is there any way to make light of it? Am I the one to write it? I don’t know and I’m afraid to ask Him. Instead, I offer Him a list of other writers who would do a much better job.
What am I going to do with all this time on my hands?! I have no excuse now not to exercise.
I do have a list. I always have a list. I can spend more than an hour reading and journaling on scripture in the morning. And I have a pile of books waiting for me to read. I’ve finished reading two over the last five days. I dead-headed roses this morning and have some pots to fill with new plants (since the others died while I was working on the book). I played with Sarge twice already today. He’s in dog-heaven. He’s sitting next to me right now with a big canine grin, panting.
I will have time to play golf with Rick again. It’s been over a year since I was on the course. I can’t wait to hunt for lost golf balls in the rough. It’s like an Easter egg hunt! And I can make one of those carts feel like Mister Toad’s Wild Ride.
What do I do when I’m not writing? The possibilities are endless.