Red Room Where the Writers Are

On the fourth of November, 2009, I finished my first novel.

This novel was different from the other ones that I've written: first of all, this one was completed in less than three months. That in itself is a miracle - normally it takes me months to finish a novel, that is if I finish it at all. I don't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing, but it's something.

Secondly, with this novel there was that spark. I found myself dreaming about what I was writing - both during the day and the night. It excited me in a way that my other novels did not.

Now this novel is a little out there. It's got some weird concepts in it - have you read the Twilight series or The Time Travellers Wife? It's kinda like that - only more fantasy and less real life. I just hope I can pull it off as well as they can.

The only problem now is that I'm struggling to find something else to write about. I had been planning to write the sequel to my first novel. Unfortunately, I find myself dragging my heels. In my head, it's great; in the writing, it's okay. I guess it's a lot like my first novel. But now what do I right about? I have no daydreams or imaginations.

It's driving me crazy not to write, and it's killing me to write something that I'm not into.

Still, I'm not looking a gift horse in the mouth. This is the second novel I've completed - yay! It's good, and hopefully it'll be published. If not, what does it matter? It's out of my system, and I gave it my all. Congrats to me and to anyone who knows exactly what I'm talking about.