Two weeks ago, I warned you guys that my posts would be pivoting to a more journal entry-style approach. While I did have a main topic last week, recording my audiobooks, this will be the first week of many that you’ll be seeing a post like this from me. Strap in!

I’m pretty sure it’s a common phenomenon for our feelings to fluctuate rapidly in regard to our creative endeavors. I will go through periods of overconfidence, submitting things like crazy and firmly believing that this time will be the time I get that beautiful three letter word in my inbox. Then, for whatever reason, my confidence plummets and I regret everything I’ve ever written.

I’m in the latter area right now.

I mentioned two weeks ago that I’ve got over 20 open submissions and queries. This is still true, though I did get one or two rejections since then. But over the last few days, how I view those open subs has pivoted. Before, I was eagerly waiting to find out which indie press would become the home for Kaja, my gothic novella. I was reasonably sure I might at least get one full request for Father Cruz, which is my current query-horse.

Then the pivot happened, and now I feel embarrassed that I ever sent anyone those pieces to read with their own two eyeballs. I’m no longer waiting in eager excitement for responses; I’m grudgingly waiting for the long and slow list of ‘no’s that I feel is inevitable. I just want to get it all over with now and start anew.

And honestly, that’s not really too much of a bad thing. I’ve mentioned before that Stephen King didn’t publish the first novel he ever finished, or even his second or third (at least at the beginning of his career). I have this nasty habit of constantly forgetting that, comparatively, I’m in the baby years of my writing career. I’m only three years in. Most people who get agents and big 5 contracts take a decade to get there. And you know why?

We get better the more we write.

I am constantly forgetting that, especially when I’m in that overconfident period of the cycle. Just because something is the latest thing I’ve finished doesn’t mean it’s the best thing I’ll ever write. But somehow I’ll always convince myself of that. Maybe it’s that initial pride you get from just finishing something. It makes it hard to see the work objectively.

I’m starting to feel like my writing career has a few phases now. 1: writing The Silverwing and cranking out my first few short stories. 2: Father Cruz (among others) and getting better at short fiction. 3: Kaja and dabbling in self-publishing. Now, I feel like I’m about to enter a new phase: Project Wishbone and sticking my head in the sand so I can just write and write until I actually have something that stands a chance to be published.

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On another topic, I’m in a terrible period of book burnout these past few weeks. I’ve got a poor ARC that I’ve been neglecting, plus two or three reads that I’ve picked up and just not been able to continue. I’m not sure why nothing’s holding my attention lately, but it has a direct effect on my writing. There’s a post from long, long ago (think the first month or two after this blog started) where I explain that reading books is like fueling my brain to write. It’s pretty obvious, but you have to be a reader if you want to be a writer. Thankfully, I’ve been a reader my whole life (starting with Hop on Pop, age four). And for whatever reason, if I’m not getting the brain fuel I need from enjoying books, my writing stutters.

I’m feeling that stutter right now.

Last week, I had one day where I didn’t meet my word count goal, and another where I had to swap goals with another day so that I didn’t get a second ugly red mark on my writing log. I got a little frustrated with myself, but when I woke up this morning and realized I wasn’t hooked by the book I’d just started, I understood what was going on. I’m in a book burnout, which means my writing is coming out like an almost-empty toothpaste tube.

What do I do about book burnout?

There are a million different ways people suggest remedying this problem, but I’ve got one that’s tried and true a dozen times over:

Stephen King re-read.

That’s right, boys. We’re gonna take our socks off and get comfortable. I’m hoping that a nice re-read of Four Past Midnight will soothe the hyperactive ache in my brain. We’ll see.

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Finally, I’ve been spending way too much time scrolling lately.

I mean, I do spend a lot of time sitting on the toilet (thanks, IBS), but I’ve gotten really bad about mindlessly scrolling Instagram and Threads until I realize 30 minutes have passed and my husband probably thinks I’m dead in there.

And you know what sucks about that? All that scrolling doesn’t even make me feel good. Everything I see is complaining about something in the reading community. AI witch hunts. Exhausting ads for books using only tropes. Watching other self-published writers show off their KDP dashboards boasting 500 sales in a week. Well-meaning people trying to police which writers can write which stories. None of this feels good, or makes me excited to be (potentially) in the public eye one day for my writing.

So many things are unpleasant to think about when it comes to the country’s general view on reading. Most people don’t do it, and the people that do aren’t reading to broaden their perspectives, or think critically, or even enjoy a story. They’re reading to find things to pick at and blow up, or to add to a ridiculous reading goal that they’re not actually reading because they just blow past everything that isn’t dialogue (I seriously thought that trend was not real, but it is, and it’s horrifying. See Saige’s post about it).

All this to say, I need to stay off social media during toilet time.

For a while, I was avoiding that by doing Duolingo exercises instead, or reading an eBook on my phone. Duolingo just pisses me off now, though. So I guess it’s back to reading. Time to scroll through Libby and find something light and quick I can finish in a few bathroom trips.

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Funny enough, I actually get to conclude this very pessimistic and gloomy post with some really good news. The story I wrote for The Capital Horror’s upcoming Home Bodies anthology was accepted! It’s wild to me that I wrote that piece specifically for that anthology and didn’t even submit it anywhere else. It’s almost like it was Home Bodies or nothing.

I don’t have a pub date for that one yet, but I’m very excited for it. The Capital Horror has fantastic taste and I can’t wait to be included among some truly talented writers. Me, I’m just there as a fluke. Fake it til you make it.

In all seriousness though, I’m actually pretty proud. I re-read the piece for the first time in months so that I could answer the Q&A questions, and I kind of found myself… impressed? Reading the story back (it’s called Norman Rockwell Clock), I felt like I was reading one of my best works to date. What’s funny is that’s how I felt about Man’s Last Friend, which also appeared in a Capital Horror publication (psst. You can still buy it). I don’t know how or why, but I keep sending the diamonds in the rough their way without realizing.

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Monthly Writing Goals Update

4,404 / 30,000 words

I’m still waiting on the audiobook for Losing Air to be approved, so no news there yet. Better, though, is the news that I’ve finished recording Cobwebs, and now I’m in the editing phase. It’ll definitely be done in time for pub day (9/22). That’s a bit of a load off.

This past week, I poured most of my word count into Stasis, which I intend to be the opening work in my WIP sci-fi horror novella collection. I’m actually creeping pretty close to the ending there, so I might get caught in the avalanche that always comes past the 80% mark. Who knows, I might even finish it before my writing break for Horror Month.

Thanks for sticking around. If you’re a long-time reader and have an opinion about this new style for my posts (positive or negative), please let me know. I certainly have been enjoying it.