Finished, Part 2
By Marsha Moyer | May 30, 2007 |
Since I finished my manuscript a few weeks ago, I’ve been suffering from what I can only call EHS—Empty Head Syndrome. Not only do I have zero desire to write, but I can’t concentrate. My brain flits from subject to subject, restless and prickly, trying to pin down something worthy of attention. I check out bestsellers and fat biographies from the library, read fifty or a hundred pages, then return them for a new, equally unsatisfactory batch. I watch the first few minutes of a DVD and switch off the TV. Sometimes I catch myself staring into space and wonder how long I’ve been sitting there, my mind drifting, cut loose from its moorings.
For the first week or so I actually enjoyed this aimlessness. But before too long, I started feeling antsy. What happened to all those terrific story ideas that kept percolating in my head at three in the morning while I was so busy wrapping up my last project, that I couldn’t wait to have the time to unleash? Are they still in there, gemstones buried in the muck, or have they evaporated along with my motivation? What if my last manuscript really was the last?
All of this is a familiar response after a period of writing and editing intensely, but it’s unnerving anyway. The how-to books are full of advice about how to get the most out of your writing time, but not many of them address the topic of burnout. As it turns out, the aftermath of a book deadline is a little like getting over the flu; there’s not much you can do but stock up on magazines and ginger ale and trust that your writer’s chops aren’t truly, permanently damaged but laying low, repairing themselves; that if you can just hang on and ride it out, eventually you’ll wake up one morning with clarity restored and imagination percolating, ready to start again.
I’ve had those periods too, where I couldn’t stand to read anything, and even watching a sitcom was too much to handle. I like to take walks to clear the head. There’s something about the monotony of walking that fosters calmness…at least in me.
But hang in. Your muse is probably at the beach, taking some time off, but she’ll be ready to return soon!
How do you usually recover from this, Marsha? Is it something that does seem to resolve overnight, like someone’s flipped a switch? Or do you have to force yourself, eventually, to sit and become creative again?
I fall into this same scenario sometimes. I still haven’t figured out an effective way to de-funk.
Good luck!
Teri, in my experience it’s usually been the switch-flipping scenario. Depends upon whether I’m under contract, though! As you know, deadlines often don’t leave the luxury of waiting for the muse to return. I’m contractless now for the first time in 16 months, so it will be interesting to see how things play out.
Kath, I sincerely hope my muse is at the beach, since I’m going there next week; maybe I’ll find her wandering along the shoreline. (Although, if you subscribe to Stephen King’s version of the muse, he’s more likely to be a hairy fat guy in a sand chair, guzzling beer and blasting Van Halen.)
It’s amazing how deadlines inspire creativity, isn’t it?
I’m laughing over the rock-blasting muse. If you see him at the beach, you may want to turn and run in the other direction. Unless, of course, he’s chatting with Stephen King.
I’ve gone through this after finishing something, but I can only take it for so long before I have to start writing again. I get grouchy and my husband doesn’t like to be around me. ;)
Sounds like ‘recharge the batteries’ time.
Cheers