Back to the Deep End

It was my birthday on Wednesday, and I decided to take a much-needed break from writing (and living in the middle of nowhere) to celebrate the occasion. A lovely friend and I went to New Orleans and spent48 hours sticking to our jam-packed itinerary without any annoying people whining about our restaurant choices or our inability to be spontaneous. It was a wonderful two days, and I got to see parts of the city I'd never really explored before.

Now that I'm back home, slightly less stressed (and the proud owner of many cute animal photos) and more determined than ever to work on my word count, I'm finding it very difficult to slide back into my writing routine.

I completed a first draft of Chapter Ten the day before I left for my trip, and I was exceedingly proud that I had accomplished so much over the past few months. I have ten full-fledged chapters (out of twenty-two that I roughly outlined before I started) and nearly 45,000 words. I've let a few close friends and family read over what I have so far, with mixed to amicable feedback, and I'm really proud of the foundation of the story I have managed to construct so far.

Beginning again has provoked a nagging feeling that has been unshakable since I returned. You know that feeling when you're waist-deep in a novel, then you sit it down for a few days and there's a fifty-fifty chance you'll finish reading it or leave your bookmark wedged halfway through the story forever? That's where I'm at with writing. I'm more than ready to finish it, but it suddenly feels like a chore.