Today I am suffering from the affliction my husband has named “Book Brain.”
This affliction occurs when I am so deep inside the creative process of novel writing that I don’t fully emerge. I become just about impossible to be around, as I wish to drag anyone and everyone back in to the fictional world I’m creating.
This is one of the inherent drawbacks to being a novelist.
People write me all the time and share with me their experience with Openly Straight. They are in that world now, having just read the book. It is very real to them. They want to take me there, and they want to share it with me.
For me, however, that world ended when I finished writing the book. I enjoy going back and talking about it with readers. But it’s hard for me to join them, because I ceased being involved in the creation of that world two years ago, when I finished the final draft of the book. They speak of Ben and Rafe as if they are living people. They write questions about what will happen with Ben and Rafe. I don’t know. I do care, but I don’t know. I’m not currently creating them, so they are not central to my brain right now. I have to access them just to answer the questions.
I want to talk about The Porcupine of Truth. I want to talk about the epic journey of Carson Speier and Aisha Stinson. That is challenging for others, as fewer than 10 people have read even a piece of that novel. No one in the world has read all of the draft I am working on. No one has access, so I’m alone.
Writing is a solitary process. And it’s at times like this, when I am so deep in, that I think it makes sense for all writers to be locked up somewhere where they cannot annoy the normal people. Because that’s all I can do today. Annoy people with this world that is only in my head, and will only be in my head until next summer, when it will become a book.
And by then, I’ll be in the next world. And people will want to share the journey, and I’ll love hearing it. I just won’t be able to really join them because that journey will be, for me, over.