I’m out of sorts again. I finished that second book of 2014 last week and I must say, this is the worst part of the whole thing, that time just after I’m done and I feel a bit lost. I don’t know what to write next, could even imagine not ever writing anything again, just spend my days reading books someone else wrote.
I … don’t think I’m a particularly great author. I’m an okay writer, for sure, but I don’t do the author stuff very well.
If I didn’t write fiction, what would I do? I actually have no idea. I’ve given it thought before, thought I might end up with a website empire where I write about books and television I love, but that didn’t work out.
I need a goal. A monster goal. Something that’s absolutely huge and that depends only on me to be reachable. I need to focus on something besides the worry over whether this book is good enough, or this book is going to sell enough. I need to focus on something so far out, so far up, that it’s impossible to get bogged down in today’s or this month’s successes and failures because they’re only stepping stones on the path to whatever this massive goal is.
So, I’m going to come up with a massive goal. I’ll let you know what it is when I figure it out. (I figured it out.)
