Working on the new manuscript, currently titled Book 2 Jane. It’s going slow as I don’t know everything yet. I don’t even have a solid subplot idea. It took me a week to think up a first scene that contained an decent hook. There’s still one pivotal piece of information I’m dissatisfied with in this scene. I just need to do a little more research. The placeholder clue I’m unhappy with is okay, it’s a cheap trick, but it works. For now.
Some days, starting a new book feels like diving off a mountain cliff on purpose. Why would I want to do that again? Why does anybody do that in the first place? I tell myself it will be fun once I know more. Once I get going. Once I figure out who the murderer is and also his motive. IRL murderers are almost always men. At least I don’t have to worry about that. Murderer is a man, case closed.
Meanwhile, did everybody get a bigger royalty check this quarter because of the lock down? Mine was much larger than usual, and I haven’t had a book out in almost two years. Nor have I done a lick of promo. I don’t usually look at my Amazon ratings or sales figures, because that can be depressing, so this uptick in sales came out of the blue.
I don’t write for money, which is a good thing, because I don’t make much. If it wasn’t for Covid, I could take my husband out for a fancy dinner on this “big” check today. And maybe leave the tip, too. Why do I write again? I can’t remember. I used to like it. I liked writing that scene yesterday. I’ll probably like writing again tomorrow. I didn’t write any new words today but I figured one or two things out, so I should be happy with that.
So here’s my list. I write because 1. I (usually) like it 2. it’s nice to have books with my name on them on my bookshelves. 3. writers are some of my best friends and we have lots in common. 4. I can’t read ALL the time.
Rereading #2, it’s embarrassing, because it’s an ego trip, but it’s true.