Casting around for new ideas for my next project. I've had several suggestions - none have clicked yet. basically book ideas have to hit me like a veritable ton of bricks.... nothing subtle.

When I am writing and the story is so good that even i can't wait for me to finish...then i know its going somewhere...

I can't even call this writer's block - its more of the aspect of an artists muse. I know how much of me, my time and my energy, will be consumed by any significant project. And this then engenders a certain 'laziness of the spirit' - parsimony fueled by terror as it were.

I know that a new project will soon take root in my soul, and extract a terrible price...like a child conceived in my mental womb...it will at first make me sick....then slowly sap my energy...parasitically feeding on my living flesh...then growth -- and its uncomfortable stretching and finally the fear and anguish of birthing this new creation...inflicting its own wounds and scars....

I can hardly wait.