I'm struggling. I'll admit it. I can't seem to find the magic, the music, the must-write-right-now mojo that was there in the beginning. I want to write amazing stories. I want to say something, and yet lately I end up writing rambling blog posts at 3 am instead of sleeping or writing or saying anything of worth. For the last six months, I've been running on empty.
I spent the last two weekends at book signings, visiting with readers who wanted to know what was next for Amy Harmon. And I could only smile while my heart cracked a little, knowing how hard it's been to make myself do anything lately but just BE, knowing there wasn't anything coming soon.
What happens when you're living your dream, but your dream is robbing you of your life? That's kind of where I'm at right now, caught in the Indie race, the crazy cycle of needing to constantly produce, yet knowing the reason I became successful in the first place was because I didn't produce what everyone else was spitting out.
So this is my blog post at 3 am for the little group of readers who might see it and care. I'm sorry. I might need some time, friends. I've got to figure the world out, or my little corner of it. And when I find my way back, I'll tell you what I've learned, and I'll do it with a story. Until then . . .