I feel… recharged.
As if all I had to do was tell myself, “Hey. Get your act together. One full-length story a month, and all the flash fic you can handle in between. Now move it.”
Last night I had a hard time getting to sleep. I kept thinking of how I’m going to finish polishing my current “Other” series work-in-progress, tentatively called “White Feathers,” for the Trafficking/Magicking antho (coming from Drollerie). I kept thinking about what stories I would tackle next: finishing my Demonic series story, “Demon’s Music,” and maybe writing another related story about fallen angels (different than true demons in my world, mind you)… I kept thinking about my Goblin Chronicles, and some more “Other” stories.
It’s like the floodgates have been flung wide open. Anything I look at, anything I hear, anything I read… It all seems to give me ideas, and my fingers itch constantly for the feel of the keyboard.
Sadly, I haven’t felt like this in a long time.
I have also been reading a lot of short story collections and anthologies lately. Devouring them, actually, between house-cleaning (for Christmas) and farm chores and work (and writing). Reading them, enjoying them… in a way it, too, has reinforced my love of the form, and sparked my imagination to greater heights.
On top of it all, I have realized I feel capable now, as a writer, in ways I didn’t before — and as a result, I’m growing more gutsy. I am open to being unconventional, I am willing to be more experimental. In short, I am not afraid of the page. And even less afraid of rejection.
The world has become a wide, wide place with infinite possibility stretched out like untouched wildlands ripe for exploration.
Who cares if I fall flat on my face? Who cares if I climb to the very top of that tree I’ve been eyeing all year?