It’s been a while. A way too long while, considering this post is at least twenty days late, but I hope you’ll bare with me. Since my last post here, I feel like a lot and very little has happened, but I have been on a long break, and that accidentally became a blog break as well. But I’m back! And as promised, my head is extremely blue.
Well folks, it happened (apologies for the flower, it was too cute not to wear)
My head is well and truly blued.
I’ve all but forgotten about it at this stage, which is strange when people I haven’t seen in a while see my hair for the first time and I have no idea what they’re staring at.
Having blue hair, as it turns out, is just as magical as you would imagine. Besides the odd weird look I get from strangers, most people love it, especially little kids, who are convinced I am a mermaid or a fairy or some other kind of weird mythical creature that grows blue hair.
In non-blue news, I did in fact turn TOWED in on time, otherwise known as The One Where Everyone Dies, otherwise known as Oasis Book Two. Once it got turned in, I had some free time. Quite a bit of it, in fact. It’s been almost a month, and I’ve had a chance to stretch and relax and work on other projects and just breathe for a bit. But the deadline-less jitters are beginning in earnest, and I’m more than ready to dive back into work.
But here’s the thing. I’m still nervous. Much less so, definitely, than the first time around, when publishing was brand new, and I didn’t know what I was doing, and I was terrified that meant that I was doing everything wrong. But here’s the thing about being an author: Doubt is just a part of being vulnerable enough to write. Once you’re published, that doubt becomes both easier and harder to cope with. New worries arrive, on top of old ones, even as some of the old ones ease. Will this book be as good as the last one? Will I disappoint my readers? What happens if it isn’t as good? What then?
The answer to that question is the exact same as it was the very first day I started writing — it doesn’t matter. If writing started with readers’ opinions, books wouldn’t exist. Writing starts when a story stirs to life and demands to be released. Quincy’s story isn’t done yet, and until it is everything else comes second. My job is to tell Quincy’s story as best as I can. My job is not to fret and worry and doubt. My job is to write, so I will. And I’ll keep doing that, as long as stories keep stirring to life inside me.