Perched on the Fence. Which Way Shall I Fall?

Kate Flora: Another February. I used to joke that I always went crazy in February. I think we’ve solved that by doing more traveling in January. But the early months of the year are often a time when I find myself rethinking this writing life. Almost as long as I’ve been published, I’ve obsessed about my success or lack of it. Struggled with envy toward writers I know and love who’ve had more of it. Anguished about whether to bother to go on, despite my love of storytelling. Wondered if it is fair to the books to put them out there in the world if I’m not willing to do all the promotion they deserve.

Well…it’s February again and I’m having the debate again. The general consensus among my peers is that we’re writers and so we can’t help ourselves. But among the voices are those who say they gave it up. It was too frustrating to keep doing the “buy my book” dance. Too discouraging to launch a book into the world and then not have it read. Too disheartening to not get publisher support and having to do it all on their own.

Right now, I’m on the fence. I’ve been cooking the story for the next Thea, and as series writers know, our characters are like family and we want to know what’s happening in their lives. I want to know what little Mason is like as he grows up. I want to know how Thea and Andre will find the necessary balance in their lives between work and family. I want to know whether they’ll stay in their dream house after all the bad things that have happened there.

Even as I’m imagining the plot for that book, I’m facing the dilemma of what to do with the four “books in the drawer” that are still unsold. Two dark police procedurals that are meant to be the first books in new series. The Darker the Night, a strong male detective tracking a serial killer, and Scarred, a strong female detective facing a mysterious killer who seems to be replicating the killings of her own siblings. A crazy book called Memorial Acts about two women dealing with losses in their lives that keep them from moving forward that I don’t know what to do with. And of course I’m still puttering around with the matchmaking dog book, Unleashed Love.

Like a lot of the writers I know, I don’t want to die and leave these poor books stuck in the drawer. As I’ve recently moved, according my physician friend, from young old to simply old, these are very real considerations. I expect that my beloved children, if faced with the chaos that is my office, will probably respond with a flame thrower unless I first embrace Swedish Death Cleaning.

So . . . February. The temperature hovers in the single digits. The walk is slippery and I’m mindful of my doctor’s concern about my crumbling old bones. Even a trip out to refill the bird feeder feels slightly dangerous as I perch with snowy feet on a small stool so I can reach it. Of course, I’m a writer, however conflicted I feel, and so I know I can convert those small fears, that feeling of accepting risk, into something my characters can use. So yes. In February I will dither and consider giving it all up so that I can loaf and read and maybe take up a new hobby. But in March, I will very likely sit down at the computer and type: Chapter One.

And a question: Is there someone out there who would like to be a beta reader? Let me know.