I am writing fiction

I fell off the poetry writing wagon this month because I have been working on fiction. A lot. I pulled out a short story written many years ago, revised it and submitted to a local contest, my first such submission ever. But mostly I have been working on Pilgrim's Cross, the working title for a novel, which, as some friends know, has consumed a lot of attention, energy and hope over the past decade.

I believed I had common writer's block. It had been so bad for long I had started to give up on the one thing I wanted to do most in life: write a novel and get it published. Poetry can be written in bursts, and there's nothing wrong with that. Journalism provides the valuable structure of deadlines and short time frames, reinforced by financial rewards.

It turns out my troubles with concentration and memory were clinical but not mere artifacts of major depression. Now medication for newly-diagnosed ADHD has brought relief and improvement. It feels like I have another channel in my brain allowing me to focus, handle distraction and manage stress. I can keep things I want in my head longer, think about them when I'm not doing them, and continue projects where I left off. Memory does not require intense mental exertion or discipline; if I care about something, it sticks. I still have much to learn and unlearn.

But this continuity is pretty amazing. It is essential for writing a novel. So trying to work on Pilgrim's Cross is no longer a forced march, but gripping and compelling. I think about it a lot and spend more time in pursuit of my greatest wish. That's where spring finds me: with more than my usual energy and optimism.

Additionally I recently started a fiction critique group with two freelance writers from the local chapter of PWAC. An ounce of accountability and constructive criticism can only help.

I don't plan to post or discuss this incarnation anywhere in detail until it is finished.