shelf space
I've officially decided to shelve my novel, COVENANT.
Shelve as in "put on ice". Stasis. To return to "someday".
It might seem silly to officially declare something shelved a year after you stopped working on it - kind of like calling Time of Death when the corpse is already six feet under. But on the other hand, half of a writer's craft never makes it to the page.
Mentally, COVENANT has been my WIP for three years now, even after the project lost steam, and even while I was working on other things. Or not working at all. Trouble is, whenever I do sit down to work on it, I balk. The idea of writing it feels like a burden. I find other things to do instead. Laundry becomes infinitely fascinating and satisfying.
I won't say I wrote myself into a corner, because I have a fair idea of what needs to be done to make the story viable. It's not that I'm not interested, either - I like my characters (love some, even), and I dig the concept. I've put some good work into this novel and I'd hate to see that go to waste.
It's more that the overhaul required to take this story somewhere is... considerable... and I'm just not in a place now to tackle it. Whether it's because my writing muscles have weakend, or because I need to see it from a new light, or maybe just let it sit in its own juices for a time, unmolested, to become something worth decanting later... well. Whever the reason, I'm finally ready to say, "Enough of this. I need a new world to explore."
So I'm *offically* in the market for new ideas. Dunno what I want to write. Dunno, like, at all.
But that's okay.
I think staring at blank canvas could be good for me.
Shelve as in "put on ice". Stasis. To return to "someday".
It might seem silly to officially declare something shelved a year after you stopped working on it - kind of like calling Time of Death when the corpse is already six feet under. But on the other hand, half of a writer's craft never makes it to the page.
Mentally, COVENANT has been my WIP for three years now, even after the project lost steam, and even while I was working on other things. Or not working at all. Trouble is, whenever I do sit down to work on it, I balk. The idea of writing it feels like a burden. I find other things to do instead. Laundry becomes infinitely fascinating and satisfying.
I won't say I wrote myself into a corner, because I have a fair idea of what needs to be done to make the story viable. It's not that I'm not interested, either - I like my characters (love some, even), and I dig the concept. I've put some good work into this novel and I'd hate to see that go to waste.
It's more that the overhaul required to take this story somewhere is... considerable... and I'm just not in a place now to tackle it. Whether it's because my writing muscles have weakend, or because I need to see it from a new light, or maybe just let it sit in its own juices for a time, unmolested, to become something worth decanting later... well. Whever the reason, I'm finally ready to say, "Enough of this. I need a new world to explore."
So I'm *offically* in the market for new ideas. Dunno what I want to write. Dunno, like, at all.
But that's okay.
I think staring at blank canvas could be good for me.