I thought I was finished.
In face, I was pretty darn sure of it. After five published novels, I reached a bit of a crisis point; for the first time since stumbling into my double-life as an author, I lacked three very important things that drive a writer forward - inspiration, imagination and patience.
I realised that I must have reached the pinnacle of where I was destined to go. I sat back and felt very proud at what I had achieved, nonetheless. I hadn't set out to be an author, I just started writing down odd thoughts that came into my head. It just ended up going in a direction that I hadn't expected.
But if I can't even find the time to write a sentence, let alone churn out enough good ideas for a new book, was there any use in forcing it? Apparently not.
I decided to make a few changes, starting by taking the plunge and coming away from my publisher. I had no idea what I wanted to do with my books eventually, but for the time being I needed to take the pressure off of myself for a while. It made me feel like I was in control of my work again. Even if I decided to keep my books in a dusty box in the loft for my and my family's eyes only, it felt good that it would be my decision to do that. I was beating myself up constantly by not being able to self-promote or achieving higher sales, and the only answer was to step away.
The enjoyment had well and truly gone from something that had started as a lunch-break past-time. If I was to eventually start writing again, it would have to be when it became fun again.
That was roughly four months ago. I dabbled here and there with a few ideas for new projects, nothing really sticking or materialising into anything of note. So I didn't push it. Through my kids, I rediscovered my love for music. I picked up a guitar for the first time in almost eighteen months. Far from being Eric Clapton, my kids seemed to enjoy listening to the notes I was stringing together again. And I started to read again, enjoying the work of authors I had been fortunate enough to get to know along the way. I wasn't even thinking about writing.
Until a few weeks ago.
Then an idea came to me. I picked up my laptop and just started typing away. Something came to life before my eyes and for the first time in too long, it felt right. I was even excited by what I was creating! The ideas kept coming together, and then it hit me...
It was 2013 again and I was back sitting in Ebrington Road, on the outskirts of Exeter city centre, sitting in my car watching the minutes tick away as I spent my lunch-breaks making another world of mine come to life.
The fun is back, just as it was when I was writing 'Acolyte' and 'House of Courtenay'.
It is now time to step back into the 'authorverse', little by little. Step one - replace my wannabe dot-com website with a fresh blog.
Welcome to 'The StoryMan'.
I'm not going to burden this page - or myself - with having to have a running theme, or any kind of identity other than a space for me to write about my writing. And I hope that people will enjoy reading about it.
On that note, my new project...
I will hold you in suspense a little longer on important details such as the story and title - both of which have been decided on, by the way - but just to say that I thought I was ready to step away from a certain place within the universe I created. I was wrong, and I shall be returning there...
I can also say that I have already decided that it will not be confined to just one book. God knows how I love a trilogy, right? But the difference this time round is that I know exactly where I am planning this to go. At just under 10,000 words currently, it is still in its early stages, still very raw. But I'm proud of it already.
So stay tuned, as in my next post I will be giving you a sneak peek at a couple of the opening chapters.
'Til then...
CTB