In the standard set of questions that authors supposedly* get asked, one of the big ones is, “Where do you get your ideas?” According to Neil Gaiman, the standard flippant response is, “There’s a P.O. box in Schenectady.”  (I say supposedly because I think I’ve only been asked that question once. Most people just ask me, “Oh, what do you write?”)

But for a lot of authors, that question is mystifying because the answer is, “Everywhere. Anywhere. My brain never ever stops feeding me snippets of stories.” Or at least that would have been my answer. But my imagination seems to have shut off. It’s just not working right now. The stories are gone.

It’s a really strange and honestly quite unpleasant feeling. Maybe it’s a little like losing your vision, and I say this as someone whose need for glasses has been growing steadily over the years. I used to have perfect sight, 20/20. Now a black blur in the distance sets off all my “beware of dog” triggers until it gets closer and closer and closer and my eyes finally give me enough information to say, “Oh, Macie! That’s Macie! I love Macie!” and I can relax.

But now that I’ve written that, I can say that it’s nothing like losing my imagination. Losing my imagination is much more like losing a tooth. I keep poking at the hole and there’s nothing there. And it is not settling in to a new normal, where the hole becomes as familiar as the tooth once was, and it stops being weird. It keeps being weird. Where are the stories? Why doesn’t a song trigger them? Why doesn’t a dream keep going when I wake up? Why don’t I know what Cici does next?

Some authors believe the universe is giving us our stories. Elizabeth Gilbert, in Big Magic, or Lauren Sapala in The INFJ Writer, would probably suggest listening, waiting for the universe to murmur to me. I’ve been listening. The universe is feeling very, very quiet.

In my morning words the other day, I wrote this:

I’m running away from the existential pain of feeling like there’s no story in my soul that wants to come pouring out, or even being yanked out into existence. This is what it must feel like for people who ask, “but how do you think of those things?” The answer is, it comes to me. Until the day when it doesn’t come to me, not at all. There’s no story in my head. Maybe it’s because I was ignoring the stories that wanted to be written, the one about the former rock star, the one about the lottery winner, the one about the girl who went through portals with her sister, the one about the bazkide. Maybe I needed to not be ignoring those stories. But it felt like I had too many things to write and now it feels like I have nothing to write.

I miss the characters talking to me, I miss the puzzles popping into my head. Maybe it’s because I didn’t respect APM enough, because I didn’t go crazy for making it perfect… ohh, so desperate to play solitaire right now. Maybe it’s because I’m depressed at the lack of enthusiasm for APM. Maybe it’s because I liked it but only four people have bothered to leave a review and no one seems even interested in reading it. Maybe it’s because no one is laughing at my jokes, a big fat thud out into the universe, not even people interested enough to hate it. And you put yourself out there — not you, me — I put myself out there and it was ignored, and so I’m feeling burned. Metaphorically burned. But too hurt to want to create. Too sore to have that part of my brain eager to perform for other people. Yep, I’m a performer and no one has come to my show and so I’m ready to stop putting on my show. 

It’s a good realization, now I think I need to sit with it for a while. Not that I want to sit with it, I want to make my coffee and find my book and maybe play a lot of solitaire. But at the same time, I think I can let my heart feel this pain and that it’s okay to just feel the pain and not drive myself to create when the creativity muscle is hurting. On the other hand, work through pain, always a way to develop a muscle, right? Not always. Yeah, I don’t know. 

I wound up deciding to let the universe give me a sign. I was thinking — well, a job offer, that’s what I was thinking. My friend in Arcata telling me she knew someone who desperately needed a nanny; a headhunter related to my previous career reaching out on LinkedIn; a Help Wanted sign in the local bookstore.

The universe obligingly provided a sign yesterday, when my friend Lynda shared with me that her friend told her I was one of her favorite authors. Her friend writes fiction, teaches writing, has written books on writing, and has been publishing books since I was in high school, so… well, I cried, actually.

Then the universe gave me another sign when BookBub promptly rejected A Lonely Magic for a featured deal, for the fifth time. I wish I’d saved all the rejection emails, because I’m fairly sure they come in gradations: the previous one said, “you can apply again in 30 days and you can improve your application by making your book free or available on more retailers.” ALM is now free and available on all retailers, and this rejection said, “you can apply again in a few months.” Eh. I think I am done with BookBub. ALM has a beautiful cover, over 80 nice reviews on Amazon, and is free: if it’s not good enough for BookBub to think it worth sharing with its readers, so be it. Thanks, universe, I get the message.

This morning, the universe gave me another message in the form of a review on Cici: Five stars from a tough grader! It ends with: I can’t wait to read the next one. (Please, Sarah Wynde, hurry!) I cried again, to be honest. Thank you, Deb, the tough grader. I’m so grateful for the encouragement!

But I think the universe is delivering some very mixed messages. I guess right now, though, I will just keep listening.

Back in November, I took a class called Write Better Faster, offered by the author of Dear Writer, You Need to Quit, a book that I wrote about in a post called Dear Self, Have Fun.

I have not started writing either better or faster. Alas. But I’ve been slowly working my way through some of the books mentioned in the class. I’ve been reading them very deliberatively. And I just looked up deliberatively to be sure it was the word I wanted and it is: “related to or intended for consideration or discussion.” Not deliberately, ie “consciously and intentionally, on purpose,” although obviously that’s true, too.

Anyway, my usual reading is high-speed and voracious. I can finish a book in a few hours, but I only retain the main ideas. I’ve been trying hard to read these books in more depth, pausing to think about the information and ideas, taking notes, summarizing my responses. Trying to really use them as learning tools.

My approach was unsuccessful with only one of the books: The Power of Habit, by Charles Duhigg. Honestly, that book was just too interesting: I couldn’t stop myself from gobbling it down. My notes for it are terrible, although I used all caps and bold for my takeaway point, which says something about how I was feeling as I finished. Takeaway point: IF YOU BELIEVE YOU CAN CHANGE — if you make it a habit — the change becomes real. Your habits are what you CHOOSE them to be. 

So far, I’ve also finished Wired for Story, Verbalize, Triggers, and Rising Strong, and I’m working on Deep Work and Story Genius.

Coincidentally, an email showed up in my inbox this morning from Mark Manson (author of The Subtle Art of Not Giving a F*ck) claiming that the most important life skill for the 2020s was probably going to be the ability to learn well on your own.

Sadly, this might mean that I’m not going to do so well in the 2020s. Because at the end of all this reading — a sincere, well-intentioned, thorough, focused attempt to learn how to write better & faster — I’m not sure what I’ve gotten out of it. Apart from approximately 15,000 words of notes, that is.

It’s not that I haven’t learned things. I definitely have. I’ve learned about the habit cycle, about transitive verbs, about the relationship of myelination to memory, about the human tendency to search for patterns. I’ve learned techniques for characterization, for plot development, for resolving interpersonal conflict, for creating change in my own life.

I don’t know, though. At the moment, I’m feeling very unfulfilled by all this learning. According to the Clifton Strengths test (taken for the class), I’m both high Input and a Learner, so this approach — reading all the books and trying to learn more — is definitely my style. But honestly, I think what I really need is to figure out how to get better at the execution strengths instead. Instead of being who I am, I want to learn how to be a Discipline and Focus person. But I think the whole point of the Clifton Strengths exercise is to embrace who you are and lean into your own strengths, instead of trying to be someone else.

Meanwhile, it’s Monday, and after my week off, I am feeling ready to get back to a solid writing schedule. It’s not quite the new year, but it’s time to execute! Hmm, maybe this story needs an execution? Nah, probably not. I did decide a couple of days ago that sentient otters were definitely in order, though!

My holidays lasted a week.

On the first day of Christmas, aka last Saturday, my dad and stepmom and I went out to dinner, their Christmas present from me.

On the second day of Christmas, we went to church, then to brunch with my sister and her kids, as well as R and his girlfriend, M. Afterward, we exchanged small presents. I gave everyone colorful socks; my dad and stepmom gave everyone t-shirts with funny sayings. Mine’s in my laundry basket, because I wore it immediately, but it says something like, “Camping, How to spend lots of money to live like a homeless person.” It makes me laugh.

On the third day of Christmas, I came back to Sanford and had Christmas dinner and presents with Christina & co. Dinner was fantastic: a maple-glazed pork tenderloin stuffed with a sausage & cranberry dressing; roasted brussels sprouts with pecans and gorgonzola; roasted root vegetables; and a chocolate mousse for dessert. And the presents were perfect. Christina and I exchanged (among other things) identical boxes. Mine to her contained Ticket to Ride: Nordic Countries; hers to me contained Ticket to Ride: Europe. Great minds!

On the fourth day of Christmas (aka Christmas Eve), I drove to Port Charlotte, to M’s mother’s house. I meant to get there in time to make Christmas cookies, and we really did have time, but I don’t think we did. The days have started to blur together a little bit — did we play games? Did we sit around and talk? I think there was still some present wrapping underway, but in the late afternoon, we went to church.

The church service had the nicest beginning — a guitar player was leading people in Christmas carols as people arrived, in a Christmas singalong. Very fun. The church service itself included music; kids dressed as angels and shepherds and wise men; the reading of the Christmas story (distracted by wondering what in the world that angel was trying to do — adjust another angel’s wings, I think) and candles lit while singing Silent Night. In other words, the perfect Christmas Eve service. Afterwards, we went to an open house at M’s mom’s friend’s house. More food, fun conversation, and it was the second year in a row that I’d been there on Christmas Eve, so felt nicely familiar.

On the fifth day of Christmas, we exchanged presents in the morning, then baked and cooked. M & I made sugar cookies — I got to do the fun parts, she got to do all the work. Mid-afternoon, we went to another friend’s house for dinner. It was full-on feasting — pear salad with pecans and cheese, followed by turkey, ham, green beans, asparagus, potato salad, baked sweet potatoes, baked potatoes, cranberry chutney, bread, and homemade chocolate cake with vanilla ice cream for dessert. Oh, also, really cute and delicious antipasto skewers for appetizers. I obviously didn’t eat any of the things that included gluten, but I’m going to call that fortunate: it’s going to make the post-holiday, trying-to-fit-into-my-clothing-again period that little bit easier!

In the evening — and possibly at some other point, too — maybe earlier in the day, maybe on Christmas Eve? — we played Ticket to Ride: Europe. And then more Ticket to Ride. And possibly some Five Crowns, too.

On the sixth day of Christmas. aka Boxing Day, I intended to head back to Sanford. M’s mom, Renee, is a wonderful, welcoming and generous hostess, but M’s dog, Millie, is (potentially) unwilling to share her space with another dog. That meant Z had spent a fair amount of time alone in the van, which is hard on her. But in the morning, before I planned to leave, we all went for a really nice walk around a local pond. Lots of birds, including something pink that might have been a roseate spoonbill. In the afternoon, we tried a small experiment and let Z be on the lanai while Millie stayed in the house. After some initial excitement on Millie’s part, she settled down, so we spent the afternoon on the lanai, playing Ticket to Ride, with Z with us, Millie watching from inside. I wound up staying long enough that I would have had to drive in the dark, so I spent another night in Port Charlotte. It was a really nice day — cozy and fun and comfortable. A nice walk, some beautiful birds, some fun games, and terrific company.

On the seventh day of Christmas, after one last morning game of Ticket to Ride, I did leave. It was a grueling drive: lots of traffic, off-and-on rain. The kind where the timer on the maps app keeps getting later instead of earlier, so that after you’ve been driving for an hour, your arrival time is later than when you started. Ugh. But when I finally got back to Sanford, Christina was making bacon tacos with tomatillo salsa. Yum! (It’s not really bacon, but pork belly that’s simmered for hours. Totally delicious.) After dinner, we played Ticket to Ride, the US version this time.

All in all, two thumbs up for this Christmas. And now it’s time to get back to work. But first, maybe some bacon taco leftovers for breakfast. They’re excellent topped with an egg.

Happy New Year!

On Saturday, I had one of those accidents where if X = the time you see it coming and Y = the time necessary to make it not happen, X ≠ Y. In fact, X was sadly < Y.

I was closing the garage door and realized I was about to close it on my fingers, just in time to actually close it on my fingers. It was possibly the first time in my life I’ve ever truly sworn like Fen, because for the next period of time — it felt long, but was probably no more than enough time to say the f-word 25 times or so — I couldn’t get enough leverage with my left hand to get the garage door open and the tips of my right fingers were trapped in the panels.

They got squashed. Badly enough that C’s first reaction upon the sight was to say, “You’re gonna need a ride to urgent care.” My first reaction, though, was ice. Ice, ice, ice, ice. And fortunately, that X and Y equation up above was so close — so really, truly, almost-in-time close — that my fingers are fine. They still hurt, and my fingernails have this odd feeling of fragility about them, like maybe they aren’t as well attached as they used to be, but the damage barely shows.

But today I got a flu shot and I don’t seem to be reacting very well to it. My whole arm hurts. Whine, whine, whine. It’s just that having painful fingers on one hand and a throbbing arm on the other has not been good for my productivity. There were so many things I intended to do over the past couple of days to get ready for the release of A Precarious Magic, and they just haven’t gotten done.

I did, however, do the more important things: I went Christmas tree shopping; helped decorate the tree; made a great Christmas music playlist; and went to the local holiday fair where I ate oysters on the half shell and listened to orchestral Christmas music while holding a stranger’s very adorable chihuahua. Also played cribbage, Song Pop Party, and A Ticket to Ride.

Yep, I’m a bad publisher. But I really am having a very nice life. Well, with the exception of the squashed fingers and the painful flu shot.

Release date: Wednesday. It’s the 8-year anniversary of the release of A Gift of Ghosts, and I think I’ll have more to say about that, but for now…

Yesterday, I stepped outside and thought, “Ooh, it’s starting to feel like Christmas.” It was 61 degrees outside. Yep, the Floridian is strong in me. I grew up in upstate New York and Wisconsin, spent almost all of my childhood Christmases in Bethlehem, Pennsylvania, and yet somehow, Christmas weather has become the low sixties. But I think it was also that it was dark and early. That feels like winter, doesn’t it?

Anyway, I’m enjoying the cooler — but not cold — weather. This time of year is the reason people live in Florida.

I think I’ve finally abandoned my NaNo aspirations. Not my Cici plans, I’m definitely going to keep working on Cici 2. But there’s just no way I’m finishing 50K words in the month of November. The good news, I suppose, is that it’s at least in part because I’m spending too much time editing and revising Fen. I’m about halfway done with my revisions, I think, and focusing lots of energy on them, hoping to be done by the end of the month. I was talking to my dad and stepmom about the book yesterday, trying to analyze what sort of validation I actually need to decide to publish it, and got annoyed with myself. Somehow between publishing Ghosts eight years ago and now, I have become cowardly. I don’t know why, really, and I don’t know what standard of perfection I’m aspiring to, but I think Fen is fun and certainly fun enough to share. So I’m going to polish for a little longer — the ending has literal gaps that need to be fixed — but then I am going to let go.

Meanwhile, Becca, the Write Better Faster teacher, has provided me with a writing task that I am so looking forward to trying. She suggested that my one thing — we are to only change one thing in our process, because changing ALL the things never works for anyone — be that I end my morning words with processing what I wrote the previous day and what I’m planning to write the current day. I’m not going to say it was quite a lightning bolt, but it was a definite sharp shock of recognition. My best writing days always start that way. So why haven’t I ever tried to do it intentionally? And I have no idea why I haven’t, but I’m looking forward to making it part of my process and seeing where it takes me. I’ve also got some reading to do and some notes for ideas on what to do when I get stuck.

But it is also Thanksgiving week. I’ve got cranberry sauce and pumpkin to make, some presents to buy, some more presents to wrap… and lots of things to be grateful for.

Happy Thanksgiving!