After I finished writing Dating the Enemy, I collapsed.
The depression I had barely held at bay for months descended. It was all I could do to get out of bed in the morning. Starting another book, even if I had been able to summon the energy to do so, seemed pointless (as everything does when you’re in that headspace).
So I let my romance writing career languish and instead focused on getting better.
It took a while. A long while. And just when I was starting to feel like myself again, I fell and hit my head, giving myself a severe concussion in the process.
I don’t recommend doing that. It hurts a lot, and becoming temporarily stupid is frankly terrifying.
Recovering from that took even longer than shaking off the depression had.
So here I am. It’s almost a year (10 months) since I finished my last book. And now? Now I’m ready to start again.
I’ve got a notebook (or three) stuffed with book ideas—and two entire novels plotted out.
Even more important, I’ve got the itch. Last night I actually dreamed I was writing—lost in that delightful state of mind that is total immersion in a story.
I woke up in a fabulous mood.
And that’s how I know that Amber, the romance writer, is alive and kicking. While other people are lighting fireworks in the backyard this weekend, I’ll be creating literary fireworks on my computer screen.
Wish me luck.
Photo credit: Ryan Johnson for North Charleston, flickr: http://bit.ly/1KvnVjU