I can’t write any more of this series.
I’ve been bitching and moaning about this for a while now, and though I wanted to get the last 3 books out it’s like I’m pulling my teeth out with rusty pliers while someone decided I need my arm amputated.
Book 7: Protecting His Werewolf was meant to be the easiest book to write, and fucking hell it is, but it’s been like torture to get it to the 10k mark.
It’s even worse for the fact that I really like this idea, I like the fact that it’s actually my first insta-love and I’m still not sure if I’m going to be able to pull it off realistically or not.
It’s my conclusion to this whole fucking story and as soon as I get past this bullshit of a day (in the book) which holds explanations I don’t want to have to repeat and shit I don’t want to have to remember. The sooner I get to the action and I’m free to fight and fuck and fight some more.
I sit here, waiting for you all to get your hands of book 6: The Rub of His Werewolf and I can’t be bothered. I’m not excited—hell, all I want to do is cry and tell you how sorry I am about that book.
The thing is, it’s not bad. It’s not detailed enough for a lot of people, and I know I could have given it a bit more word count by adding those details but I think they would have taken away from the scene. and quite honestly I have been shit with details as it is where this series is concerned and I feel that if I keep up. Even if I finish these next three books by the end of June, they will be the worse pile of bullshit I’ve ever put out.
I feel you will read the struggle and the loss of love I have for this series, and that’s just not true. I love this series, I’ve just been working on nothing but them for the last 2 years and this is including those moments I’ve written something else in between, because, well, let’s face it, even while I was writing them I still had this series bitching at my ankles and telling me I need to get back to them.
So I need a break.
I need it right fucking now, before I do permanent damage to the whole thing and make you hate it before we even get out of this first arc.
I will give it til the end of the week to see if I can finish this book, but I’m at a point that I’m resenting myself because I wake up in the morning with, “you don’t finish this by the end of the week then you may as well quit.”
I go to fucking sleep with that running through my mind, and I scream that at myself as the day goes on and I still haven’t done any fucking work.
I don’t want to be like this.
I don’t want to feel like this.
And I don’t fucking have to.
The thing is I love writing. I have loved writing my whole fucking life. It’s the only thing that hasn’t left me, while I go in and out of obsessive trends. I have always gone back to writing in my diary – hell, I made up a squiggle language in my spare time because I just didn’t have anything else to write, so, well, why not.
I want this to be my life, I don’t want to do anything other than this, and while I can still say this authorhood is for love and not a way to support myself—my family—I should stretch my wings and see where it takes me.
I should try my hand and see what I like best.
I should just write because the story struck and because I can. I don’t need that pay check—I love the pay check, but I don’t need it to live off.
I understand this comes off promotion, and it’s a bit of a mood killer, but I need to get it off my chest. I need to get this series off my chest before I can’t continue anymore.
So I’m hoping to have book 6 done so you’ll get it by next month but I’m not putting money on that, and to be honest I think it will be a big thing if I can even get the next three books out before the end of year, but I will try. I’m just going to take a break, completely and see what else I can come up with.
I know I’m new and I don’t really deserve anything like this, but I hope you’ll be patient with me. I’m truly sorry this has happened. I wanted to finish the story arc before I let it go because I hate when the story isn’t finished, at least a little, and you don’t know when the next is going to come, but I feel if I continue you will end up hating it just as much as I do.
So as I sit here looking at the last thing I wrote and wondering why this story isn’t going the way I want it to go, but knowing it’s because this is where it’s meant to be, I sigh and I come to a realisation and so here we are.
Thank you for see me.
And thank you for giving me something to look forward to, and in return I hope to give you something to look forward to.
And let’s all hope—me mostly—that this decision will allow the cloud to shift around me and that happy mood I caught a glimpse of a month ago comes back, and I can see joy in the world around me, not wonder where my life is disappearing to.