The Merry Go Round

What does it mean when I'd rather get distant, impersonal rejections than start a new novel? It means I'm a sadist who should really think about switching hobbies. Today I sent off more queries in avoidance of starting a new novel. 

I've been thinking about this novel for a while. I thought about it yesterday, but no opening paragraph would come to mind. To tell you the truth I didn't think it would happen today, but while emailing one of my new critique buddies it happened. The heavens opened up. The angels sang. The perfect words and great hook flowed into my computer screen, but that's as far as it went... one paragraph... and then the rest went blank. 

I had to stop because what do I know about these people in the story? What traits are they going to have to make you like them, hate them, relate to them, and cheer for them? Nothing. They are strangers. I don't even know their names. 

But on top of that, do I really want to go through this again? I ignored my family when I wrote. My baby girl learned to bribe her mommy to get me away from the computer. My husband probably thought I was bipolar because of my mood swings. I was seriously, jovially, illegal- drug happy when the writing went well. I was droopy-dog depressed when a scene didn't come together. 

And for as much as I want to walk away, the smarter side of me tells me to run away, I can't. I sit at the computer, watching the cursor blink impatiently at me, waiting for me to entertain it, and I can only hope I am able to fulfill the expectations.

Here we go again. Wish me the best of luck.