playing at working

I've had a break from writing for three days now. Hinterland still has its tweaks, but it's a matter of going through my list. I think I've been putting it off because at this late date, I'm scared I'll read through it and it will suck. Such worries always take the form of procrastination.

It doesn't help that I've been working on my first novel off and on. Talk about bringing a writer back to earth--nothing does it like the bad writing in a first novel. We've all got those sub-par books and stories gathering dust on our harddrives. Thousands of them, like old boyfriends from the wrong side of the tracks. Thing is, they sure were good in bed. My series was my teenaged romance with writing. It obsessed me. I lost actual friends over it. I recently read an author who made the same claim. What a relief, someone else has fallen from grace and risen again.

I see I must try with the series, but not for the same reasons as before. They're good stories, solid characters, and I think they will sell because urban fantasy is hot and I don't see that fadiing anytime soon. I'm viewing it more with an author's eye rather than a writer's. To me there's a difference, and it's detachment. It's familiar--I've felt it with Sean. I'm not in love with him like I was with Aidan and Kaelin. But that's good. I can't field those wild feelings and ruthlessly edit without it feeling like a betrayal. Just like marriage. Not every moment can be earthshattering, because frankly, most of the time you're choosing an insurance plan or getting up in the middle of the night with kids or putting the clean dishes away every morning because you know you spouse hates it (thanks, Hon). There's not much place for romantic passion in those things. Those require a quieter, longstanding, often thankless dedication. You know, like the real work of life.