Kat Faitour's Blog: Musings - Posts Tagged "kat-s-musings"
Hi. It's So Nice to Meet You.
Hi.
It's been two years since I walked away from a career in healthcare, finished a degree in economics, and decided to sit down to be a writer.
And it's easier now to talk about the catalyst for such a major life change.
You see, my mother had just lost her battle with ovarian cancer. She fought it as hard as she could for a couple of years before her choices, and her time, ran out.
It was, as they say, a defining moment for me.
She was gone. My mother was my compass--I could consult her when I lost my way, or couldn't see the path ahead. We were so close, talking and laughing over daily phone calls that sustained us until the next visit.
It was my privilege to care for her in the end and to comfort her in her last earthly hours. Hers was the first face I saw when she brought me into this world. And mine was the last face she looked on as she left.
This changes a person.
I decided it was time, past time, to keep some old, nearly forgotten promises. I finished an abandoned degree. But when I began the search for a new job, one combining my experience and education, I found myself oddly listless.
It was my husband, Monsieur Faitour, who would light my way. He asked me the question that had burned in my gut for years. A secret promise to myself that was never kept.
"Why don't you sit down and write?"
Hearing that question, with its implied support and encouragement, was exactly what I needed.
I sat down.
I wrote.
It's taken over a year, but I'm nearly ready to publish my first work, A Matter of Trust. It's the first book of five in my London Calling series and I'm so excited to share it.
A Matter of Trust shares the story of Devon, an independent, private, and smart woman who meets Bennett when he hires her to work for his financial firm in London. Sexy sparks fly but Bennett struggles with his rule of never dating staff while Devon fights to keep her grifter family and past safely off-limits. Ultimately, they have to learn to trust each other and choose love over obstacles. Of course, everything gets complicated when Devon's family decides Bennett's company is their next perfect target to infiltrate and hack.
Tempers flare while laws and hearts are broken. But don't worry: love heals everyone in the end.
It did the same for me. I miss my mother every day. But in the end, I know she'd be happy that I kept those old promises. And she'd be thrilled that I've chosen to live a life steeped in love. After all, what better way to spend our time?
I hope readers enjoy reading A Matter of Trust. I certainly loved writing it and look forward to sitting down to work on the second book in my London Calling series.
It's been two years since I walked away from a career in healthcare, finished a degree in economics, and decided to sit down to be a writer.
And it's easier now to talk about the catalyst for such a major life change.
You see, my mother had just lost her battle with ovarian cancer. She fought it as hard as she could for a couple of years before her choices, and her time, ran out.
It was, as they say, a defining moment for me.
She was gone. My mother was my compass--I could consult her when I lost my way, or couldn't see the path ahead. We were so close, talking and laughing over daily phone calls that sustained us until the next visit.
It was my privilege to care for her in the end and to comfort her in her last earthly hours. Hers was the first face I saw when she brought me into this world. And mine was the last face she looked on as she left.
This changes a person.
I decided it was time, past time, to keep some old, nearly forgotten promises. I finished an abandoned degree. But when I began the search for a new job, one combining my experience and education, I found myself oddly listless.
It was my husband, Monsieur Faitour, who would light my way. He asked me the question that had burned in my gut for years. A secret promise to myself that was never kept.
"Why don't you sit down and write?"
Hearing that question, with its implied support and encouragement, was exactly what I needed.
I sat down.
I wrote.
It's taken over a year, but I'm nearly ready to publish my first work, A Matter of Trust. It's the first book of five in my London Calling series and I'm so excited to share it.
A Matter of Trust shares the story of Devon, an independent, private, and smart woman who meets Bennett when he hires her to work for his financial firm in London. Sexy sparks fly but Bennett struggles with his rule of never dating staff while Devon fights to keep her grifter family and past safely off-limits. Ultimately, they have to learn to trust each other and choose love over obstacles. Of course, everything gets complicated when Devon's family decides Bennett's company is their next perfect target to infiltrate and hack.
Tempers flare while laws and hearts are broken. But don't worry: love heals everyone in the end.
It did the same for me. I miss my mother every day. But in the end, I know she'd be happy that I kept those old promises. And she'd be thrilled that I've chosen to live a life steeped in love. After all, what better way to spend our time?
I hope readers enjoy reading A Matter of Trust. I certainly loved writing it and look forward to sitting down to work on the second book in my London Calling series.
New Beginnings.
Finally….spring.
I live in the northern Midwest of the United States. That means winter leaves slowly and reluctantly, sometimes throwing a temper tantrum on the way out. As an example of this rudeness, it snowed here yesterday.
Yep. It’s May.
Some of my friends and family think we’re insane to live in a climate that acts in such a way. But I’m a lover of seasons, finding the ebb and flow of nature’s growth, abundance, and decay to be a comforting cadence. Sure, winter is a little long here. But that makes all the other seasons that follow so much more glorious.
I’ve always felt revived and energized in spring. As soon as those first, fresh days arrive, I want to air out the house, clear the clutter, and shake off any lingering dullness. For nature, it’s a time for renewal and change, a new beginning to the cycle of life. So it always made sense for me to treat my life in the same way.
After a few false starts, Monsieur Faitour and I are beginning our first annual whole house purge. We’ve done this in the past, prior to our move here, and know how liberating and truly freeing this experience can be. It never ceases to amaze me how cluttered our minds and bodies become along with our homes and work spaces.
And speaking of bodies, I’ve committed myself to becoming healthier and active. I was so focused on writing full-time and getting my first books ready and published that I barely noticed how much my fitness levels had suffered.
So, rather than moan and wail, I’ve decided to do something. (Okay, I might have moaned and wailed for a day or three.)
I’m a walker. So I will walk.
As for the writing, it too has echoed the season’s theme of renewal. I’m ready to publish the third installment of my London Calling series. It’s called Risking It All and I’m so excited to share it.
It picks up the story of Dominic and Natalie, our two doomed lovers from A Matter of Trust. Theirs is a lesson of loss and love, betrayal and redemption. Sometimes second chances can be as simple–and complicated–as forgiveness.
And finally, to complete the pattern of new beginnings, I’m happy to say I’ve started working on my fourth book. You’ll have to read Risking It All to meet the main characters, but I can tell you they’re both strong and brave, yet wounded and vulnerable. I can’t wait to see how they champion each other while healing themselves.
I hope readers continue to enjoy my London Calling series. I wish everyone, no matter what part of the world they’re living in, a happy and healthy season. And if it’s time to give something–or someone–a fresh start, then I wish you all the best in that as well.
Especially if that someone is yourself.
I live in the northern Midwest of the United States. That means winter leaves slowly and reluctantly, sometimes throwing a temper tantrum on the way out. As an example of this rudeness, it snowed here yesterday.
Yep. It’s May.
Some of my friends and family think we’re insane to live in a climate that acts in such a way. But I’m a lover of seasons, finding the ebb and flow of nature’s growth, abundance, and decay to be a comforting cadence. Sure, winter is a little long here. But that makes all the other seasons that follow so much more glorious.
I’ve always felt revived and energized in spring. As soon as those first, fresh days arrive, I want to air out the house, clear the clutter, and shake off any lingering dullness. For nature, it’s a time for renewal and change, a new beginning to the cycle of life. So it always made sense for me to treat my life in the same way.
After a few false starts, Monsieur Faitour and I are beginning our first annual whole house purge. We’ve done this in the past, prior to our move here, and know how liberating and truly freeing this experience can be. It never ceases to amaze me how cluttered our minds and bodies become along with our homes and work spaces.
And speaking of bodies, I’ve committed myself to becoming healthier and active. I was so focused on writing full-time and getting my first books ready and published that I barely noticed how much my fitness levels had suffered.
So, rather than moan and wail, I’ve decided to do something. (Okay, I might have moaned and wailed for a day or three.)
I’m a walker. So I will walk.
As for the writing, it too has echoed the season’s theme of renewal. I’m ready to publish the third installment of my London Calling series. It’s called Risking It All and I’m so excited to share it.
It picks up the story of Dominic and Natalie, our two doomed lovers from A Matter of Trust. Theirs is a lesson of loss and love, betrayal and redemption. Sometimes second chances can be as simple–and complicated–as forgiveness.
And finally, to complete the pattern of new beginnings, I’m happy to say I’ve started working on my fourth book. You’ll have to read Risking It All to meet the main characters, but I can tell you they’re both strong and brave, yet wounded and vulnerable. I can’t wait to see how they champion each other while healing themselves.
I hope readers continue to enjoy my London Calling series. I wish everyone, no matter what part of the world they’re living in, a happy and healthy season. And if it’s time to give something–or someone–a fresh start, then I wish you all the best in that as well.
Especially if that someone is yourself.
Still Waters.
It’s very still here.
Don’t get me wrong, it’s almost always quiet in my world. I write full-time, usually to the muffled sounds of rain and thunderstorms on a continuous track. I’m accompanied in my home office by two spoiled and beloved felines, one of whom can surprisingly make a lot of noise.
But that’s it.
Until Monsieur Faitour returns home in the evenings, this place is all my own. All in all, it’s a very quiet lifestyle.
This is good. I need near silence to hear all those characters milling about in my head. And so I can write the stories they want me to tell.
Speaking of which–in case you missed it–I’ve just published the fifth and final book in my London Calling series. It’s called Angeline’s Return and finishes the story of John and Angeline Sinclair that was introduced in the second book of the series, Losing Angeline.
Now it’s time to decompress and re-evaluate the whirlwind that has been the past fifteen months since I published my first book.
Without a doubt, completing what I set out to do brings an entire host of emotions, not least among them satisfaction, pride, and more than a twinge of melancholy.
I’ll miss the characters. And even though it sounds weird, it’s hard to say goodbye. Luckily, I have it on good authority (being an insider and all) that they’ll live out their days very happily ever after.
But life is all about change. So it’s time to move on.
I have another five book series planned that I will begin publishing in March of next year. Right now, the ideas are still steeping and fermenting, but within a couple of weeks, I’ll be hard at work on the first book.
I’ll continue to work on my craft as both writer and businesswoman. And for this round, I plan on making some tweaks and adjustments to how I continue to cope and thrive in this new life that I’m carving out for myself.
I’d be kidding you if I didn’t say I’m emphatically in love with what I do. It’s unique and thrilling to be able to make up stories for a living. And I find the solitude suits me very well. Maybe I talk a little too much to the cats, but I forgive myself.
I’m continually reminded there is no ‘finish line’. We are all works in progress, every single one of us, whether we realize it or not.
And I think it’s always better to realize it. I wish to live as consciously as I am capable. To continue to examine and test myself, always learning.
When I finished my latest book, I came out from beneath my layers of fog and reclusiveness to find the world in chaos. Here in the United States, the election took a costly toll on friendships, family, and even individual peace of mind.
Like many, I made some adjustments. I’ve cut back on my use of social media. While I want to be available to my readers, my hope is that they find me on my website. And to use my email as a direct means of communication with me rather than shouting into the ether of the internet and various social media sites.
Okay, maybe shouting isn’t the right word. But it sure seems like there was–and still is–a lot of broadcasting from soapboxes where true conversations are unlikely at best, impossible at worst.
As a creative, I find all the emotion and hyperbole very distressing. It drains me until I’m unable to create my work.
In the spirit of living an examined life, I’ve made a pact with myself to actively avoid the things which do not fill me up. I spill emotion on the pages of my books. It makes sense that I need to refill the well now and then. And refilling it with angry rants, fake news, and marketing disguised as personality quizzes does not satisfy my soul.
I want to be able to measure and remember the seasons and moments of my life. Just a few days ago, Monsieur Faitour and I visited the city for a late afternoon meal. All around us were couples, friends, and families sitting at tables set with charming votives and small flower arrangements. It was a bustling, hip place where the constant chatter of servers and bartenders combined to create a low hum underlying the clinking sounds of glassware and cutlery.
Observing other diners, I realized some tables–quite a few, in fact–were silent. Because the friends, lovers, and families at many of these tables were busy glued to their phones, skimming and swiping messages. Now and then someone would hold up their phone for someone else to see a photo, a text, or whatever.
I remember that day with my husband. That meal. Even the servers who bustled between the tightly spaced tables and booths. And maybe those other diners remember that day as well as I do. I don’t know.
What I do know is that I’ve been guilty of the same behaviors. And when I’ve been busy on mobile devices, I don’t remember the meal. Or the conversation. I didn’t taste my food as fully. I didn’t appreciate the atmosphere. And there was no way I was fully engaged with the person in front of me.
I adore technology. I really do. But I want it to serve me. It should make my life better, not become a tool for lost time and forgotten hours. I no longer wish to be a servant to status checks, new emails, texts, and all kinds of various notifications.
I’m taking that time back. I hope that friends and family will understand that I might not be as instantly available all the time. I know that social media enriches many lives and can give some people a powerful sense of connection with others. And that’s wonderful.
It’s my wish that everyone can find what works best for them and their lives. As for me, I’m liking this state of less distraction. I find myself relearning how to wait quietly without reaching for the nearest device to fill every spare moment. It gives me time to think. To observe. And to listen.
It’s stillness that enriches me and leaves me with a powerful sense of connection. To others, yes. But also to the most intimate and important relationship I have.
With myself.
Don’t get me wrong, it’s almost always quiet in my world. I write full-time, usually to the muffled sounds of rain and thunderstorms on a continuous track. I’m accompanied in my home office by two spoiled and beloved felines, one of whom can surprisingly make a lot of noise.
But that’s it.
Until Monsieur Faitour returns home in the evenings, this place is all my own. All in all, it’s a very quiet lifestyle.
This is good. I need near silence to hear all those characters milling about in my head. And so I can write the stories they want me to tell.
Speaking of which–in case you missed it–I’ve just published the fifth and final book in my London Calling series. It’s called Angeline’s Return and finishes the story of John and Angeline Sinclair that was introduced in the second book of the series, Losing Angeline.
Now it’s time to decompress and re-evaluate the whirlwind that has been the past fifteen months since I published my first book.
Without a doubt, completing what I set out to do brings an entire host of emotions, not least among them satisfaction, pride, and more than a twinge of melancholy.
I’ll miss the characters. And even though it sounds weird, it’s hard to say goodbye. Luckily, I have it on good authority (being an insider and all) that they’ll live out their days very happily ever after.
But life is all about change. So it’s time to move on.
I have another five book series planned that I will begin publishing in March of next year. Right now, the ideas are still steeping and fermenting, but within a couple of weeks, I’ll be hard at work on the first book.
I’ll continue to work on my craft as both writer and businesswoman. And for this round, I plan on making some tweaks and adjustments to how I continue to cope and thrive in this new life that I’m carving out for myself.
I’d be kidding you if I didn’t say I’m emphatically in love with what I do. It’s unique and thrilling to be able to make up stories for a living. And I find the solitude suits me very well. Maybe I talk a little too much to the cats, but I forgive myself.
I’m continually reminded there is no ‘finish line’. We are all works in progress, every single one of us, whether we realize it or not.
And I think it’s always better to realize it. I wish to live as consciously as I am capable. To continue to examine and test myself, always learning.
When I finished my latest book, I came out from beneath my layers of fog and reclusiveness to find the world in chaos. Here in the United States, the election took a costly toll on friendships, family, and even individual peace of mind.
Like many, I made some adjustments. I’ve cut back on my use of social media. While I want to be available to my readers, my hope is that they find me on my website. And to use my email as a direct means of communication with me rather than shouting into the ether of the internet and various social media sites.
Okay, maybe shouting isn’t the right word. But it sure seems like there was–and still is–a lot of broadcasting from soapboxes where true conversations are unlikely at best, impossible at worst.
As a creative, I find all the emotion and hyperbole very distressing. It drains me until I’m unable to create my work.
In the spirit of living an examined life, I’ve made a pact with myself to actively avoid the things which do not fill me up. I spill emotion on the pages of my books. It makes sense that I need to refill the well now and then. And refilling it with angry rants, fake news, and marketing disguised as personality quizzes does not satisfy my soul.
I want to be able to measure and remember the seasons and moments of my life. Just a few days ago, Monsieur Faitour and I visited the city for a late afternoon meal. All around us were couples, friends, and families sitting at tables set with charming votives and small flower arrangements. It was a bustling, hip place where the constant chatter of servers and bartenders combined to create a low hum underlying the clinking sounds of glassware and cutlery.
Observing other diners, I realized some tables–quite a few, in fact–were silent. Because the friends, lovers, and families at many of these tables were busy glued to their phones, skimming and swiping messages. Now and then someone would hold up their phone for someone else to see a photo, a text, or whatever.
I remember that day with my husband. That meal. Even the servers who bustled between the tightly spaced tables and booths. And maybe those other diners remember that day as well as I do. I don’t know.
What I do know is that I’ve been guilty of the same behaviors. And when I’ve been busy on mobile devices, I don’t remember the meal. Or the conversation. I didn’t taste my food as fully. I didn’t appreciate the atmosphere. And there was no way I was fully engaged with the person in front of me.
I adore technology. I really do. But I want it to serve me. It should make my life better, not become a tool for lost time and forgotten hours. I no longer wish to be a servant to status checks, new emails, texts, and all kinds of various notifications.
I’m taking that time back. I hope that friends and family will understand that I might not be as instantly available all the time. I know that social media enriches many lives and can give some people a powerful sense of connection with others. And that’s wonderful.
It’s my wish that everyone can find what works best for them and their lives. As for me, I’m liking this state of less distraction. I find myself relearning how to wait quietly without reaching for the nearest device to fill every spare moment. It gives me time to think. To observe. And to listen.
It’s stillness that enriches me and leaves me with a powerful sense of connection. To others, yes. But also to the most intimate and important relationship I have.
With myself.
April Showers.
In this part of the world, we hold to the simple rhyme that April showers bring May flowers. And while that hasn’t always been true in the upper Midwest of the United States where I now live (Wisconsin has long, cold winters), it is definitely the case for this year.
And what a gift that is.
There isn’t a spring season where I don’t think of my mother and miss her. She and I had a wonderful tradition of trying some new diet and/or exercise program every year where we were determined to lose some weight and, more importantly, GET FIT.
And while this doesn’t sound like a lot of fun, I can tell you it was. My God, how we would laugh at ourselves. And isn’t that a gift too? To face hard work and struggle (and the occasional humiliation) with a broad smile on our face?
I think so.
So, in her honor, I set myself a new challenge this year. I’m renewing my commitment to walking. And bicycling too! I live in a smallish town that is completely friendly to both activities. (Plus, I have the most fabulous Dutch bike you can imagine and really want to be Jessica Fletcher when I grow up.)
But the biggest spring challenge has been the new series I started writing. It’s called The Orphans of Antwerp and Dead Weight is the first (it’s available!) of what will eventually be five books.
The stories are about a group of classmates that bonded as children when they lost parents to the violence and volatility of the diamond trade. As adults, they reunite as a band of thieves, intent on justice. After all, the diamond companies stole their childhoods. Shouldn’t they take something back?
The books are going to be a fun romp about a group of jewel thieves. And while it’s been a lot of work to get this series off the ground and running, it’s an absolute delight to write. After all, for as long as I can remember, being a jewel thief was my number one, top career pick if I could be anything.
Well, that and being an art forger (but that’s another series).
*wink*
I have to say, this is one of the best things about being an author. I get to be in characters’ heads that I have nothing in common with. I get to try on new (and outrageous) career paths without ever leaving my desk.
Man, it’s the jackpot of jobs. And I love it.
I hope everyone finds their jackpot. The old adage that life is short is so true. But equally true is its opposite. Life can be very long. Too long to be unhappy and discontent. Too long to hold grudges or bitterness. Too long to live in fear. After all, not to be morbid, but none of us get out of this world alive. Shouldn’t we make it count?
May we all find our joy. And when we do, may we have the good sense to recognize and embrace it.
As for me, in this part of the world, I’m embracing April’s cleansing promise. Spring is a time of renewal. So, I’ll be taking walks and pictures, bicycling my errands, and creating new worlds with fresh characters.
And remembering that just being alive is the most beautiful gift of all.
And what a gift that is.
There isn’t a spring season where I don’t think of my mother and miss her. She and I had a wonderful tradition of trying some new diet and/or exercise program every year where we were determined to lose some weight and, more importantly, GET FIT.
And while this doesn’t sound like a lot of fun, I can tell you it was. My God, how we would laugh at ourselves. And isn’t that a gift too? To face hard work and struggle (and the occasional humiliation) with a broad smile on our face?
I think so.
So, in her honor, I set myself a new challenge this year. I’m renewing my commitment to walking. And bicycling too! I live in a smallish town that is completely friendly to both activities. (Plus, I have the most fabulous Dutch bike you can imagine and really want to be Jessica Fletcher when I grow up.)
But the biggest spring challenge has been the new series I started writing. It’s called The Orphans of Antwerp and Dead Weight is the first (it’s available!) of what will eventually be five books.
The stories are about a group of classmates that bonded as children when they lost parents to the violence and volatility of the diamond trade. As adults, they reunite as a band of thieves, intent on justice. After all, the diamond companies stole their childhoods. Shouldn’t they take something back?
The books are going to be a fun romp about a group of jewel thieves. And while it’s been a lot of work to get this series off the ground and running, it’s an absolute delight to write. After all, for as long as I can remember, being a jewel thief was my number one, top career pick if I could be anything.
Well, that and being an art forger (but that’s another series).
*wink*
I have to say, this is one of the best things about being an author. I get to be in characters’ heads that I have nothing in common with. I get to try on new (and outrageous) career paths without ever leaving my desk.
Man, it’s the jackpot of jobs. And I love it.
I hope everyone finds their jackpot. The old adage that life is short is so true. But equally true is its opposite. Life can be very long. Too long to be unhappy and discontent. Too long to hold grudges or bitterness. Too long to live in fear. After all, not to be morbid, but none of us get out of this world alive. Shouldn’t we make it count?
May we all find our joy. And when we do, may we have the good sense to recognize and embrace it.
As for me, in this part of the world, I’m embracing April’s cleansing promise. Spring is a time of renewal. So, I’ll be taking walks and pictures, bicycling my errands, and creating new worlds with fresh characters.
And remembering that just being alive is the most beautiful gift of all.
The Fallow Season.
All my life, I’ve lived in cities.
And aside from one brief but glorious stint in Canada’s capital, I’ve lived in the Midwest of the United States.
When you live in the Midwest, no matter how large or small your city, rural life is never very far away. There’s a lot to learn from our farming community. And for the past two years, I’ve delved into the concept of the fallow season.
Oh, it didn’t start that way. At least not knowingly.
No, I finished and published Dead Weight: The Orphans of Antwerp Book One in April of 2017. As was usual, I immediately started the second book in the series, A Cut Above.
But things didn’t go as usual. I struggled to define the story I wanted to tell. Later, when I figured out what that story was, I couldn’t seem to find the words to tell it.
I blamed it on life events that were unexpected–and unwelcome. Later, when some of those things had settled, I couldn’t find my rhythm again. My flow.
To say I struggled is an understatement.
But somewhere along the way, I started to wonder if my inability to write was really just the Universe calling a time out on me. I’m not a fast writer but I’d been working full out for a couple of years.
I published six books in that time. And I was tired.
The concept of a fallow season in farming dates back thousands of years. Basically, you rotate crops and allow fields to lie fallow so that the soil may replenish itself, restore its health, and rebuild its nutrients.
Well, it turns out that’s exactly what I needed.
I wasn’t exactly dormant. I read a LOT of books–about the creative process, the writer’s life, and I even explored the hell out of chronotypes and what makes some of us night owls and some of us larks.
(News flash: I’m a night owl.)
I studied the craft of good storytelling.
And yes, I even continued along with writing the book, limping and crawling, not sure if anything was making any kind of damn sense.
The thing about a personal fallow season is you’re not quite sure how long it will last. And that is very disconcerting. You start to question yourself, your abilities, and your commitment.
You wonder if you’ve lost something irreplaceable. Something that made you able to do something one day and unable the next.
But like any other season, it does pass.
As I neared the two-year mark since I’d last published, things began to click. I wish I could explain this better but all I can say is that the things I studied, learned, and explored during my time away jumbled, resorted, and slotted into place.
My well was filled. I finished the book in a joyous frenzy of writing.
Because of what we went through together, this book is very special to me.
There’s always some sadness in saying goodbye to a book once it’s written. But I know it belongs to its readers now while I have other worlds to delve into.
My fallow season has ended. It’s time to plant new seeds and tend a new story.
And aside from one brief but glorious stint in Canada’s capital, I’ve lived in the Midwest of the United States.
When you live in the Midwest, no matter how large or small your city, rural life is never very far away. There’s a lot to learn from our farming community. And for the past two years, I’ve delved into the concept of the fallow season.
Oh, it didn’t start that way. At least not knowingly.
No, I finished and published Dead Weight: The Orphans of Antwerp Book One in April of 2017. As was usual, I immediately started the second book in the series, A Cut Above.
But things didn’t go as usual. I struggled to define the story I wanted to tell. Later, when I figured out what that story was, I couldn’t seem to find the words to tell it.
I blamed it on life events that were unexpected–and unwelcome. Later, when some of those things had settled, I couldn’t find my rhythm again. My flow.
To say I struggled is an understatement.
But somewhere along the way, I started to wonder if my inability to write was really just the Universe calling a time out on me. I’m not a fast writer but I’d been working full out for a couple of years.
I published six books in that time. And I was tired.
The concept of a fallow season in farming dates back thousands of years. Basically, you rotate crops and allow fields to lie fallow so that the soil may replenish itself, restore its health, and rebuild its nutrients.
Well, it turns out that’s exactly what I needed.
I wasn’t exactly dormant. I read a LOT of books–about the creative process, the writer’s life, and I even explored the hell out of chronotypes and what makes some of us night owls and some of us larks.
(News flash: I’m a night owl.)
I studied the craft of good storytelling.
And yes, I even continued along with writing the book, limping and crawling, not sure if anything was making any kind of damn sense.
The thing about a personal fallow season is you’re not quite sure how long it will last. And that is very disconcerting. You start to question yourself, your abilities, and your commitment.
You wonder if you’ve lost something irreplaceable. Something that made you able to do something one day and unable the next.
But like any other season, it does pass.
As I neared the two-year mark since I’d last published, things began to click. I wish I could explain this better but all I can say is that the things I studied, learned, and explored during my time away jumbled, resorted, and slotted into place.
My well was filled. I finished the book in a joyous frenzy of writing.
Because of what we went through together, this book is very special to me.
There’s always some sadness in saying goodbye to a book once it’s written. But I know it belongs to its readers now while I have other worlds to delve into.
My fallow season has ended. It’s time to plant new seeds and tend a new story.
