Despite the fact that I haven't posted anything here in a long, long time, this blog is getting about 200 hits every day. I'm guessing this is an automatic thing that pops up because I still have a few blog followers out there, but it seems strange that an essentially defunct blog would get so much traffic.
Of course, there's a reason I haven't been posting or sending out newsletters. Both my agent and my Sourcebooks editor have passed on my Soul Survivors trilogy of paranormal romantic suspense. This lack of enthusiasm has crept into me like a virus, sapping my desire to write to the point that I'm having a very hard time finishing the third book. When she passed on that series, my editor asked for another Cowboy Heaven book, as well as another Cat Star book. I told her I didn't have any ideas for another cowboy story, but I did have four chapters and a synopsis for the first of a "Next Generation" Cat Star book. I also wrote a synopsis for a second book, but so far, interest has been lukewarm at best. I'm still waiting to hear from her after providing her with a better "hook" for the two books and the series as a whole, but I almost hope they say no.
The truth is, I'm tired. Tired of constantly trying to promote, promote, promote. Tired of checking my Amazon sales only to see that another day has gone by without a single sale. Tired of scrolling through Facebook and seeing nothing there to improve my mood. If you followed anything I posted before the election, you'll know I'm not a bit happy with the outcome. The general despair from that fiasco has had a negative impact on my overall outlook to the point that I've lost purpose. I'm bored and restless at the same time. I don't know what I want to do now, but writing isn't bringing me the joy it once did. I realized a few days ago that, aside from cooking, I no longer have any leisure activities that I enjoy. They've all dried up one by one as my writing career devoured every second of my spare time.
Perhaps what I'm feeling now is only the usual post-holiday blues, but I can't help believing it runs deeper than that. I turned 61 last week. I know that in today's world, that age doesn't seem very old--that is, until Carrie Fisher died at the age of 60 the day before my birthday. So many of our beloved actors and musicians died in 2016. I can't say that anything terrible has happened to my family directly--except the death of our fifteen-year-old cat on January 5th. It's more pervasive than that. There's a pall hanging over our world, and romance just doesn't lift the spirit the way it once did. Maybe someday I'll catch the writing bug again, but for now, I'm going to try to find something else.