I got married in September. To the surprise of no one, I wrote my own ceremony and vows, a rare collaboration with my (now) husband and our officiant.
Wedding planning took a lot out of me. I basically didn’t write for months, or wrote sporadically, and what I wrote didn’t sing to me. I played with concepts I’ve been wanting to write about: princesses posing as princes, shapechangers posing as gods, all manner of creatures that have been poking about the haunted wilds of my mind.
There was a point where I could feel panic rising. I’ve lost it, I thought. I’m never going to find a compelling story again. I’m going to be stuck trying to make cross-dressing royalty work, and it’s never going to happen. This was a real concern, and I can remember sitting there, staring at a chapter, begging it to work for me — but it didn’t.
[CUE DRAMATIC MUSIC]
Until last week.
I am still convinced that letting people in on a story too early is the surest way to kill it before it has had time to hatch, which is why I won’t be telling you much about my latest gambit. I will say this: it involves vampires, which has got to be the stupidest move my muse lizard brain has ever made. Vampires are so played out. We all know that. But this is what’s inspiring me right now, and I’m not under any deadlines, my livelihood does not depend on it, so — vampires it is.
Vampires. Why’d it have to be vampires?
