And not just because I live in Texas where there’s a permanent state of drought and lawns look like deserts for 10 months of the year. I’m waiting for the much more precious form of rain: inspiration. The touch of literary angels, letting the storms and floods come to my parched imagination.
I’m revising my second manuscript (half way through it), and these have been the most painful revisions of my life, to date. I can’t see the ending of a new thread I created, and it’s driving me crazy.
In addition, I have ideas for two more separate novels, and I’ve scratched them down with the little bits stuck in my mind like thorns. But once again, inspiration has run dry in my household. Maybe because I’m letting the revisions of this other manuscript drag me down. Very plausible.
Last October and November, the story of my third manuscript literally spilled out of my fingers, like the Hoover Dam overflow. I’m grateful it’s now out to several Beta Readers whom I trust, and know there will be more to revise when it comes back.
But this other story plagues my house (thanks, Shakespeare) like an abandoned yacht in a dried lakebed.