I haven't written a word in six weeks. No revisions, nothing on my new manuscript, not even a blog post since I turned in edits for HOW IT ENDS. Having spent the last nine years writing in pretty much every spare minute I could find, I expected it to be weird or hard to take time away. At the very least, I thought I'd occasionally feel guilty that I wasn't getting something done. But, nope, not weird, not hard and not an iota of guilt.
I think its 'cause I've hit a lucky spot where all my writing projects are ahead of schedule. HOW IT ENDS is in copyedits so there's very little I'll need do with it between now and publication in Fall 2014 or so. The next book, LIGHT AS A FEATHER, needs a few changes before it's ready for submission, but they're small and since my editor is going on maternity any minute, it'll be on hold until October anyway. And, though I've started a new manuscript, there's no point rushing to finish since that one will have to get in line behind the others.
On top of all that, my youngest son is starting kindergarten in fall so, where I used to have only two hours a day to write, soon I'll have almost six.
I think I'd feel guilty if I didn't take time away from writing this summer.
Instead of frantically trying to get words on paper, I've been doing all the summer stuff with the boys: going to the beach, baseball games, carnivals, swimming, setting up sprinklers, visiting family, gardening (the boys don't like that one so much). I've read six books, (double what I'd read the rest of the year). And I finally feel like I've gotten some real separation between me and my computer.
This week and next, the boys are in camp so I'll dig back in a little - clean up LIGHT AS A FEATHER, maybe brainstorm new titles for HOW IT ENDS (something I'm, sadly, terrible at). I might even put in a little time on the new manuscript. After that, no promises.