I’m having a serious identity crisis lately. No, not about me as a person, but me as a writer. Sage friend Michelle Rowen asked me recently if I’m going to the next RWA convention in Nashville. My IGR (“initial gut reaction”) was, yes! It’ll be good to see old friends again. But the a second later I was like, wait a sec. What business do you have going to a romance writers’ convention? You don’t read romances!
Yep, I’m also having an identity crisis as a reader. I haven’t picked up a book with a romance as the central theme in ages. And while I usually go through cycles, I’m thinking this no-romance reading this might be permanent. To be clear, I enjoy a romantic story, but only as a subplot to a story that involves saving the world. Think The Matrix or Bourne Identity.
So this is the kind of story I want to write too. But I don’t know what the problem is. A lack of time, certainly. And a general overwhelming number of activities that sap my energy/mental capacity.
I have no updates other than to conclude my stream-of-consciousness writing with this: I still want to write. But not right now. Wish I could dance more. And go skiing. That’s what I really want to do.
