Been quiet a couple of days. Things have been hectic.
One of the things I’m gradually learning during this whole writing thing is that you have to spend as much (if not more) time running your mouth about the books you’re writing as you are just writing the damned books.
I’m an introvert. I wrote my first book with the understanding that:
- I need to create something or I’m going to tear out what’s left of my hair.
- Writing a book is about the most solitary activity in which I could engage.
Joke’s on me! I didn’t have the first clue what’s actually involved in marketing a book and getting people to pay attention to it when I wrote my first book. I knew there was some sort of thing you’re supposed to do to tell people about it but that was really some nebulous, undetermined activity to be reserved for later after all of the publishing activity was completed.
Holy Jesus. I feel like Jay Sherman…
If you’re a true introvert, you know where I’m coming from. You see, they have these people called extroverts, who get a deep psychological charge from interacting with other people. They go to social events and gatherings, hang out and mingle with everyone all night long, and feel invigorated and energized the next day; ready to just go out and beat the shit out of the week.
Guys like me need a weekend of recovery after going out to dinner and a movie. We literally feel like we need our batteries recharged.
For me, this is typically focused towards face-to-face social interaction. I should and do have a higher tolerance for internet activity. This, too, has a limit, it seems.
This is all a long, roundabout way to say that blogging a lot is freaking draining, man. I’d rather be busy writing my next book; not writing about writing my next book.
Oh well. Writing the second entry in the Commune series is actually tearing along, so I guess I’d rather have this problem than the alternative: the dreaded Writer’s Block.