This week I got an almost suspicious amount of writing done.
Not little pretend-writing either, where you open a document, rename it three times, stare into the void, and then somehow end up researching something like 19th-century burial customs or whether a particular town had gas lamps in 1887. I mean actual work. Tangible work. The kind where you look up and realize hours have passed and you’ve accidentally been useful.
I finished three full outlines.
Three.
I know. I’m impressed too.
I got Runyon Park Book 2 outlined, a long-distance relationship M/M romance, and a brand new supernatural M/M, which means I spent the week bouncing between very different flavors of emotional instability and calling it productivity. Kick ass.
I love when I hit that weird zone where everything starts clicking and my brain stops acting like an abandoned carnival ride. It doesn’t happen on command, which is rude, but when it does happen, it’s fantastic. Suddenly the story has shape. The characters stop standing around cartoon blinking and waiting for direction. The plot starts behaving like it has somewhere to go. Things that were vague and annoying on Monday somehow become obvious by Thursday, which really makes you wonder what exactly your brain is doing the rest of the time. I blame the premenstrual fog. Yes, for two years shut up.
But let’s be honest, most of the time writing is at least partly me glaring at a project like it has personally wronged me.
This week was different. This week everything had a pulse. Carver came to life again. Quinn found their conflict.
And the three projects all had totally different energy, which was half the fun.
Runyon Park Book 2 was probably the most satisfying in that very specific “returning to familiar darkness” way. There’s something really nice about going back into a world that already has a mood, already has weight, already has teeth. I’m not wandering around in the dark with a flashlight and a prayer, I know the terrain. Or at least I know enough to walk into danger confidently, which is basically the same thing in fiction.
Then there’s the long-distance M/M romance, which is a completely different animal. That one has all the yearning and emotional tension I could muster, so naturally I had a great time filling in those blanks. Distance is such a useful little menace in romance. The ache. The waiting. The way every connection matters more because it has to cross space to get there. Just absolutely disrespectful levels of emotional opportunity.
Love that for me.
And then there’s the new supernatural M/M, which I am not going to say much about yet because I do know how to behave sometimes. Not often, obviously, but sometimes.
I will say this, though. I’m having a very good time with it.
It’s got that energy I really love when a story still feels a little feral. Like it hasn’t fully introduced itself yet, but it’s already staring at you in a way that suggests poor decisions are on the horizon. That’s my favorite stage with a new project, when it still feels a little private, a little sharp around the edges, and I’m just sitting there going, “Oh, you are definitely going to be a problem.”
Which, to be fair, is exactly my type in fiction.
And probably in life, but that is a separate issue.
What I liked most about this week was just being in it. Not overthinking every sentence. Not turning every decision into a four-hour committee meeting inside my skull. Not doing that thing where I convince myself I need to solve the entire project at once before I can move forward. I was just working. Moving. Figuring things out as I went and actually getting somewhere.
That always feels a little miraculous, because my brain is not what I would call a naturally elegant machine. It’s capable, yes. Useful, sometimes. But elegant? No. My process is usually less “graceful creative flow” and more “monitor littered with post-it notes and a desk of empty energy drink cans.”
So when I have a week like this, I enjoy it.
I don’t question it too hard. I don’t ask the brain for documentation. I don’t poke the ecosystem with a stick. Don't want to risk pissing it off. I just let it happen and get as much done as I can before my attention span gets distracted by some weird side quest and wanders off carrying a folding chair.
Because that’s always a possibility.
There is always the risk that after a week like this, I’ll wake up and my mind will decide it no longer believes in linear thought. That’s just part of the arrangement. You take the productive streak while it’s available, like spotting a rare animal in the wild. Quietly. Respectfully. Do not make sudden movements.
Still, I’m really happy with what I got done.
Three full outlines means three projects that now exist in a much more solid form than “vibes and emotional weather.” They’ve got structure. They’ve got bones. They’ve got somewhere to go. And that is one of my favorite feelings, when a story stops being a cloud of possibility and starts becoming a real thing I can actually build.
So yes, that was my week. I wrote a lot, outlined three books, and briefly experienced the rare and mystical sensation of my brain acting like we are on the same team.
I would like more of that, ideally.
I do not expect more of that, because I know myself.
But I had it this week, and I’ll take the win.