Whenever I meet someone and they ask what I do for a living, my reply is almost always met with a positive response: “That’s so cool,” or “What a wonderful way to earn a living.”
Occasionally, someone will say, “You’re so lucky to be able to do a job you love.”
To that, I smile whilst biting my tongue.
For the record, there are many positive aspects to being an author. You get to share your stories with people across the globe and, on the whole, almost everyone you hear from is lovely. In fact, I’d go as far as to say that the people who read my novels are amongst the loveliest, most intelligent, and witty humans alive today. If you haven’t already gathered, this is my attempt to sweeten you up before I get to the salty point of this post.
I’m currently two-thirds the way through my latest novel, The Fourth Clause, and I’ve hit yet another roadblock. This isn’t the first mental wall I’ve run into, and it won’t be the last, but this one just feels more solid than those I’ve hit before.
The problem with these roadblocks is there’s no quick fix, no tried-and-trusted method to move forward. Well, there probably is, but it would mean writing a shitty, half-arsed workaround that undermines the whole story. I’d rather not publish the book at all than do that.
This brings me back to those who think that authors are lucky and that we all love what we do. Today, I am not loving my job one bit, and luck isn’t going to ride to my rescue.
Truth be told, at this precise moment I wish I was an accountant or a locksmith… or even a traffic warden. In those jobs, you don’t need a creative spark to do what you’re paid to do. You turn up, do the work, and piss off home at the end of the day. No traffic warden has even failed to issue a ticket because the muse wasn’t flowing.
Before you reach for the Kleenex, this isn’t a sob story. I’m just venting in the hope that it might lessen your annoyance when I confirm that The Fourth Clause won’t be available this side of Christmas — realistically, it’ll be January/February 2025.
If you are annoyed with me, I completely understand and I hope you’ll accept my sincere apology. My only mitigation is that I’m mentally knackered. I’ve been writing constantly for more than eight years now; finishing one novel and then cracking straight on with the next. After eighteen novels, I’m surprised that I haven’t had to write a similar grovelling apology long before this one.
If there’s any consolation, I’m confident that the finished story will be worth waiting for. Ironically, it’s that exact thought that’s allowed me to take a step back, breathe, and not lob my keyboard out of the window. The roadblock won’t beat me — of that I’m sure — but staring at it for eight hours a day won’t make it disappear any quicker.
Right, that’s the end of my confession. As always, thank you for always being on my side … even when I let you down.
Keith x