The engine has been idling for long enough. For anyone who creates, the feeling of being stuck in “creative neutral” is a quiet, persistent hum of dread. It’s the sensation of motionlessness when all you want to do is move forward. But today, the clutch is in, and I’m shifting back into gear. It’s time to return to my secret shame, my private joy: the novels.
For a while now, my creative energy has been split between two very different worlds. One is a science fiction novel that’s been humming along nicely for a few months, its universe still new and full of potential. The other is a mystery-thriller, a project I’ve chipped away at for years, a story that has become an old, familiar friend.
And it’s that old friend I’ve had to say goodbye to. At least, in its current form.
The conceit is set in the fading days of 1994 and the dawn of 1995, a setting I still adore. I wrote a first act that I felt was electric, that crackled with promise and grit. And then… nothing. I slammed into a solid brick wall. The characters stood there, waiting for me to tell them what to do next, and I had no answer. The narrative road had crumbled into nothingness.
It’s a strange kind of grief to shelve a project you love. But a post-mortem is necessary. The story had elements I was deeply attached to—specifically, a dive into the world of exotic dancers. I loved the atmosphere and the voice it brought to the page. But in my more honest moments, I had to confront the fact that this beloved element might not be serving the larger story, and could, in fact, turn off a significant portion of the very readers I hoped to connect with.
Writers are always told to “kill your darlings,” but no one tells you how much it feels like a genuine loss. You’re not just deleting a chapter; you’re dismantling a piece of yourself that you painstakingly translated into words.
So, I’m not giving up. I’m executing a pivot.
The novel that was meant to be the second in the series will now become the first. The dead-end story isn’t dead; it’s now the rich, unseen history that informs a new starting line. What felt like a failure has opened a door to a potential trilogy. The wall I hit has become the foundation for something larger. I’m going back to the drawing board, but this time, the board is bigger and the blueprints are clearer.
To fuel this new chapter, I’m returning to one of the most essential parts of a writer’s life: reading. Voraciously. Intentionally. I can’t just daydream my life away. As long as the pilot light is on, there’s always a chance to reignite the flame.
As the old saying goes, while there’s life, there’s hope. And while there’s a blank page, there’s a story waiting.
