On Slowing Down…

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Or, why you haven’t released a book in awhile, Erica?

I have always wanted to be a writer. I remember babbling to my mother on long car rides, starting a story and not ending until we’d arrived at our destination. (It is no wonder my childhood nickname was Chatterbox). I remember writing my way through high school, finding the love of my life, and knowing we were meant to be because he always, always took my need to write seriously. I remember going to college on a writing scholarship. I did not know what the future held, but I knew I needed to study writing – for me. Only on the page did I feel truly in control, truly talented. For the entirety of my early twenties, I became the embodiment of several Hamilton lyrics – whenever there was a problem, I wrote my way out. I wrote like I was running out of time, even before I received the multiple autoimmune disease diagnosis that truly does limit my time and quite possibly my future lifespan. I wrote because I didn’t know how to do anything else; because I needed it to breathe.

It took a long time to gather up the confidence to craft my first solo novel, but through it all, I had a burning passion. I was convinced, above all, that I was meant to be a writer. Nothing else compared. I wrote one book, convinced I’d change the landscape of historical romance with my working class romance. (Hubris, thy name is Erica, right?) It didn’t, and I didn’t. But I wrote two more, because I was determined. And still, I was having fun. I was creating.

But over time, I stopped writing for me, and began writing what I thought I was “supposed” to be doing. The market changed, scams abounded, and the system started to largely look rather broken. I stopped being able to separate the business of publishing from my creating. I began to judge myself by the money I made (or didn’t), by the successes of others.  My confidence in my writing abilities was swallowed up by voices of doubt, as I’ve tattooed negative words upon my soul, as if my worth can be judged by another’s opinion. I know that to be a writer – to work in publishing – means you must get used to rejection. You must have skin like a rhinoceros, so thick arrows bounce off of you. I am not, nor have I been, someone who things deflect off of. I am an open, gaping wound, my emotions spilling out of me for all to see. This has been my greatest gift, for those deep emotions are what drew me to writing in the first place. I had a friend, years ago, once say that I approached writing like a method actor does–I feel the emotions of my characters. I look for things that will put me in the right mood. Writing, in the past, was always a catharsis because of this. It’s why when everything stopped being so healing, so rewarding, that I knew I needed to take a look at where I was heading.

Please know that I am, and have always been, tremendously grateful for the opportunities I’ve had in my (relatively short) career in publishing. I love my readers, and I love Romancelandia. And it’s that very love that’s led to me taking a step back in the past year and a half, because I want to continue to write for many, many years to come. I knew that if I continued trying to do it all, I’d end up so exhausted I’d never want to write again.

So I took a step back. I’ve spent the last twelve months heavily focused on turning more inwards, on finding ways to still the rushing whirlwind that is my mind. I cancelled my last remaining deadlines, and I’m not contracted for any new books. I’ve focused on my health, and in consequence, my autoimmune flare-ups have been less. Fibromyalgia has a way of making you readjust your priorities quickly–when you’re battling daily cognitive problems (brain fog), pain throughout much of your body, and a bone-deep, unconquerable fatigue, you learn you’ve only got enough time in the day to do some of your work, and so you choose that which is most important. (See the Spoon Theory here for a great explanation of this).

And man, have I learned a lot about myself. I’ve learned I can’t function when I’ve got everyone else’s expectations in my head. I have to take time to recharge, and I’m a lot more introverted than I used to be. I’ve curtailed a lot of my social media usage, and that’s led to more time spent reading, or watching television – more time consuming media that makes me feel creative and gives me peace. I know now, that in order for me to create, I have to really want to do it. I’ve got to love what I’m writing–and learn how to write again for the joy of it, instead of the business. I’ve learned that the goals I had, aren’t the right goals for me. In this stage in my life, I don’t do well with the uncertainty of a writer’s income, and so being a full-time writer isn’t my dream right now. Instead, I’ve embraced running my author services company, because that provides me with the stability and variety I was craving. When I edit other authors’ books, and when I write marketing material for them, I’m using a different skillset than when I’m writing my own stuff. It’s given me a balance, and a satisfaction I was desperately missing.

What does this mean for my books? Mostly, that I’m still pretty darn slow. Because writing is no longer my primary focus, I have to work my books in around my other work deadlines. I expect I’ll release one full-length book a year, or two novellas. This is a better schedule for my physical health, and definitely a better schedule for my mental wellbeing. I don’t know when The Lady Rebels will be finished–I still fully intend for it be published, but I refuse to put out a book that isn’t at its best. I’ve rewritten it four times, and I think I finally have a handle on it, but it’s been a really, really hard book to write. I also hope this year to bring back Covert Heiresses, but I can’t make promises on when that series will continue either. I write all of this because I believe in being transparent with you, dear reader. I don’t like to commit to things I can’t do, so I wanted to make you aware of my new timetable.

And I think–I hope–that these changes have helped me. The words are coming back to me. The fear is starting to dissipate, and I’m beginning to get excited again. I’m so utterly thankful to those of you who have reached out to offer encouragement to me, who have told me you’ll wait as long as needed for me to release a new book. You have been seriously a lifeline, and you’ve helped me patch up the pieces of my tattered soul.

Slowly but surely, I’m rediscovering the artist I always wanted to be, and I like her.