I’ve been unreasonable depressed and somewhat angry for the last few days. I could cite several possible causes, the foremost one being the drop in book sales this month — to zero. That’s a bit disappointing, but not depressing. Even if it wasn’t the dog days of summer, a major drop-off for a new writer is normal. I’ve also slacked off on promotion, so I can’t complain.
It could be that the last chapter of Taryn has proved to be so hard to write, and that’s getting closer to the truth. I’ve always been a little–not exactly skeptical–maybe wary, of writers who claim to get emotionally involved with their characters. But that’s exactly what’s been happening lately. The whole Cor/Jordane drama has been full of angst. But now that it’s coming to a close, and my central character is having to deal with the sum total of everything that’s happened to him since he was enslaved, he’s completely bent out of shape. And I’m bent with him.
He has to make the hardest decisions of his life, not for his own benefit, but for the benefit of others. Even if he see that sort of benefit as a kind of evil that he’s opposed for so long, and so strenuously. Which is more important–his principles or the people they affect? So he’s miserably unhappy and alternates between wanting to smash his head against the nearest wall, and running away from the whole mess. No wonder I’m depressed and angry.
Thank goodness, it’s only a few more hundred words and I’ll be through with him. He’ll have made his decisions, for better or worse, and he’ll have to live with them. And I’ll have to live with my readers’ reactions, for better or worse. I guess that’s what writing is all about.