Apparently so, and I see, stretched before me, a summer I've missed the last few years as I worked my day job through until mid August. My day job is contract work, usually through mid winter and summer, and I have late summer until after Christmas to write.
But I'm ahead of myself. Since this is my first time here, I should introduce myself. I'm Jaime. I write gay (sometimes erotic) romance, and I've been published for almost three years now, and with TEB for about a year, I think. I've got two anthologies and two novels under my belt, and a whole lot of plans....
Today, I find myself in possession of a double-edged sword.
With the day job ending early by a month I have more time for writing, for creating, for doing the things I love.
With the day job ending early by a month I have less money to pay the bills.
This is a scary proposition, for obvious reasons. Less obvious is the fact that about a year ago, we made a family decision to cut back to one income, and I'm it. And now I'm unemployed until at least January. Aside form the fact of the missing income, I feel the weight of all that responsibility, and my great fear is the stress putting a stopper on my creative flow.
No one likes to be stoppered. I can just picture the ideas and plots cramming up behind a thick damn of stress and fear; logs behind a mud-packed beaver damn.
I remember when I was a kid and the beavers stopped up the creek behind our house. My dad and brothers would trek out there, day after day, and pull out log after mud-encrusted log hoping each time, they would find the lynch-pin and the whole thing would just blast through and flow freely again. In actual fact, it took a stick of dynamite to blow that sucker loose, and even then, the creek found a new way around the impassable blockage.
And the beavers came back. They do every year.
We're still not sure who's more stubborn; them or Dad, but the thing is, neither of them are interested in giving up, and in the end, the creek never stops flowing. It just finds another way around.
So I'm going to keep yanking one story after another out of that big ol' ball of stress and, universe willing, the ideas will keep flowing around it.
And just in case, I've got the dynamite handy :p
So my question now is this; when stress closes in on you and seems to be blocking off all escape, what do you do? Power through? Meditate? Talk it out with someone? Blog in the hop-es someone out there has an answer that will work for you? Or just write, write, write, whatever comes out until it starts making sense?