Post-Novel Depression

I am a firm believer in the concept that when you are going through a difficulty, it helps to put a name to the problem.

For the last few weeks I have been lethargic in my writing. I even went through two days when I didn’t even have the energy to write in my journal. I am very faithful to the journal, making an entry nearly every day, including Sunday.

I realize now that, just as some women go through post-partum depression after giving birth, I am going through post-novel depression. I did, after all, give birth to an 85,000 word novel in just over 6 weeks.

I previously wrote about the exhilaration of being “in the zone” while writing that novel. The characters spoke and moved and made love and war in my head as if I watched a movie. I thought about them while I wasn’t writing. Heck, I’m still thinking about them.

The joy and angst of writing that book was so intense, it’s inevitable that I would have a let-down after I finished.

Indeed, I’m trying to write a novella, a dark fairy tale based on “Bluebeard,” which seems to be flowing with the rapidity of molasses in January, as my momma used to say.

Part of it is the story. I don’t feel like it’s exciting enough, but I’m about 5000 words into it and I might as well finish. You can only revise what you’ve finished.

But a part of it is the post-novel depression. It’s as if a husband asked a woman who just gave birth to get pregnant again right away. And yes, I know there are women who are forced to do this. It doesn’t make it any better.

I’m not sure how to get out of this funk, other than to let it run its course and to ride the next wave of literary inspiration when it shows up. At my age, though, I always wonder if there will be another wave.

The dirty secret is that I’ve felt this way all my life. In fact, there have been years in which I haven’t finished a novel or a short story. Only a few poems and songs.

Ah, youth! You think you’ll live forever. Next thing you know, you’re living in Barstow, sitting at your kitchen table, your notebook staring you in the face like an impatient lover wondering when you’ll be excited enough to seal the deal.

Okay. I’ll be Okay. I tell myself this. I’ll be okay. Surely, I will.

Sigh.