The difference between going back and going home

It’s funny.

So much time and effort goes into writing a novel. I will go through the cycle of loving and hating the process over the next two years as I finish up the David trilogy. Writing affects my social life, my wallet, and I’m not published, so what’s the incentive? I’m not always sure.

A couple weeks ago, I was looking forward to the break, and possibly The End of me writing long format stories. I was just plain out of ideas and that felt… strangely okay.

So that’s it, right?

Apparently not. A little seed of a story was born Saturday morning. It’ll stew in the brain for the next 24 months until it’s ripe.  I’ll store little notes in that mental drawer and then I’ll probably do this all over again. A tiny part of me is disappointed.

“Let’s take a break!” it shouts.

“Let’s enjoy the world and not spend our life in a freakin’ cafe!” it cries.

“At least not in the summer, so we can maybe go to the pool? Please?” it begs.

It’s genuinely bummed, the poor thing. But most of me? Absolutely elated.

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