Brain Fog, Writers Block, & Beginning Again
Here I sit, back in my old haunts in Hannibal, Missouri again.
Once more, I'm working on the Rienspel series - the work that started it all for me. To be honest, I've been trying to make headway on Rienspel's impending sequel, That Dark Battle, for all of COVID - to little avail. Although I will say that at this point, I'm about 2/5 the way through the rough draft, so that's good!
I started writing it back in college when I noticed my roommate working away on his historical fiction, Blood for Glory. I figured if he could write a book, so could I. I grew up steeped in the high fantasy and mythic tradition. At that time, I was struggling to find more of the sorts of stories I craved, so I began writing the sort of story I'd want to read. The rest is history.
Here I sit, at the crossroads of another new beginning. It's a place where I can grow. Become more of the best of myself. Maybe even help others do likewise in the process. Up until this point, I've created books and maps, poetry, marketing plans, author tours across America. I've created websites and faced down corporate bullies. I've sold a house and bought a house. I faced what at times seemed like certain death. I've lost my faithful car (RIP Fiona). I've unmasked family secrets. Traveled thousands of miles. Had the California sands wash my grief. Bummed around local bars in Albuquerque. Created boom-bust podcast empires. Grown roses and avocados. Misspelled the names of famous photographers. Rested at ancient waysides. Danced with natives. Felt the pain of loneliness. Rescued puppies and kittens. Said shameful things to friends. Many would say that I've lived, but it never feels like enough. Not in the moment, or even the day after that.
Here I sit and wonder why these words come so easily while book words do not. I've been in a liminal space for several years, until now. Now what? Now it is the slow steady time. The drip drip of spring, with the winds and the rain and the sun and the silent sprouting of the green. For the slowly receding chill married by the quiet promise of Summer heat to come. For the passing of death into new life. Different and strange. For a yearning answered. A call fulfilled.