Well, it’s nearly midnight Sunday night and I’m just sitting down to create a blog. I know, poor planning and procrastinating and all that bloody business, but I’ve been ruminating about this blog for days and can’t seem to pin it down. Here’s my problem – or what I think is my problem - I’m coming off a high.

That’s right, the adrenaline rush of working like a mad woman to get a short story submitted before deadline. This was an open submission call so I in no way want to imply that *my editor* wanted my MS by a deadline. This just put me in the running with who knows how many other aspiring (and probably published) authors for a summer anthology. So, what does this have to do with the price of tea in Tortuga? I’ll tell you. Nothing really.

But, it does have to do with why I can’t seem to pin down a topic for this blog. I’m spent. I’ve come down off my incredible adrenaline rush of the last week and crashed onto the shifting sands of nada. Yep, that’s what I’ve got – nada.

But this is a topic in and of itself. When – notice I do not say “if” – when we get published, the pressure shifts from trying to get published to then trying to remain published. And to remain published, you have to write something else. And something else after that and something else after…oh, you get the idea. You have to WRITE MORE. But that’s hard – said in my best whiney voice. Well, if my blog had a voice.

But there is a plus to this as well. I’ve never wanted to write so badly in my life. Last night I went to see a particularly angsty movie (and took the most emotionally unstable friend I have which was NOT a good idea) and on the drive home I heard a conversation in my head between the characters of my main WIP. When I got home, I had to get it down. It can’t be but 50 words but by the end of those 50 words, I was crying. It’s basically the scene that leads to and builds up to the black moment and it’s really good. Oh, I can’t wait to get there!

I’ve even dreamed about writing. If the dream is not about my WIP then it’s about me writing the WIP. It’s damn near an affliction at this point. So, I believe what I’m saying is finishing something is a double-edged sword. It’s done, it feels great and the high lasts for days. But then the voices start again, you have to write more and the pressure builds and the doubts start all over again. And even with all the pressure and doubts, you can’t wait to get to the keyboard.

Am I alone on this dingy or has anyone else felt this way? Have you finished a work and felt on top of the world only to crash when reality returns? Or do you coast right along, finishing, starting and finishing again as if it’s naught but a lovely dance? And can anyone tell me why the hell we would ever drink tea in Tortuga?