I can't get the next book out of my head. Or other future books I'd like to write some day. Thoughts, strings of words that I can see on the page, pass through my mind while I'm changing Ada's diaper, doing the dishes, filling in timeslips for January billing. I want to stop doing whatever it is that I'm doing and run to my computer and write. I don't want to make dinner. I don't want to sit on a conference call. I don't want to feed the animals and fold laundry. I want to write. It doesn't matter to me whether it's good or not yet - I'm missing the creative process, the feeling of building something, and then starting to see what it is emerge, cutting away what was wrong or untrue. Writing is like sculpting. The story already exists, perfectly told, tantalizing and enthralling, out there in the ethers. I tease out a thread of it. A character makes a surprising decision. Ah, I see now. I didn't realize that about you. I write on. Someone new shows up. I don't know why yet, but I explore them with my words. I shut out everything else. The characters keep trying to tell me their story when I finally go to bed at night. I get up again and write down notes, then beg them to leave me alone for just a few hours. I watch them behind my eyes, showing me their scenes and who they are. When I get stuck, I get up and make tea, water the garden, weed. When I sit down again I make myself write through it. I probably don't have it right yet, but I discover where I'm supposed to go next, and then while I'm driving to pick up the kids it occurs to me how to get there. I give hugs and kisses and admonish for running ahead of me, make dinner, change diapers, do bathtime, two bedtime sets of songs and cuddles, and then back to the computer and write until my eyes hurt.
I'm uncertain about my future as a writer, until I get an agent and start to figure out a direction. So I'm not writing more just yet. Maybe a little more polishing on the manuscript, because there's always more polishing to do, but that's all. If I can't get an agent with this book, then who am I to keep doing this?