This has happened before. It happened with the first book in the series, and I guess I should be nervous, because that little think break lasted longer than I’m prepared to admit. 

It doesn’t matter this time, though. I’m not nervous about getting started again at all, because the monster in my brain – the one who used to tell me I’d never finish anything I started – seems to be dead. And if it’s not dead, then it’s badly wounded and lacks the strength to hinder me. In fact, I did some writing the day before yesterday, a short story from the point of view of one of my villains. I was thinking through a pivotal moment in this villain’s journey, and suddenly it wasn’t enough to think through it, I had to write it and make sure I really knew how it all went down, word for word. It was fun. It was relaxing. 

And it’s not really surprising that I didn’t get back to writing until the day before yesterday.  It was a stressful December at work, and Wednesday was the first day of my Winter Break.  Hurrah for Winter Break!  Our tree is up, the lights are lit on the house (first time in a house – always an apartment before, so this is my first year with lights on the roof, and I hung them backwards the first time, so that was delightful entertainment for the neighbors, I’m sure), I’m listening to this fabulous album, and we’re taking the little boy to see Santa today.  I’m happy. 

It also helps, and very much, that the editor who likes the first book was back in touch the other day and reaffirmed interest. So that feels good. 

I’m going to sit here now and drink coffee and wrap presents and think.