At the moment I don't think I can deliver that.
Oh, I've been writing like a demon. 35,000 words of one novel and 13,000 of another but ... I'm just not feeling it. I don't think they're good enough and I won't ever put something out there that I'm not proud of.
When my mum passed away, almost seven months ago, people kept telling me to be kind to myself. At the time, I didn't understand what they meant. Now I think I do. I cared for my mum for almost nine years and now I don't know my life any more. It's different, beyond different and that's going to take some getting used to.
If I had a regular job to return to where I had daily tasks, routine and a structure, it would obviously be another story. But writing, especially light, fluffy chicklit, is a whole different kettle of fish. I don't feel funny. I don't feel quirky. I feel grey, bleak and dull - my readers don't want that. Every sentence is a struggle and the plots aren't allowing me to inject my usual sprinkle of humour.
In short, I'm going to start being kind to myself. I'm going to stop beating myself up and hold my hands up and say. 'It's OK to cancel my December release. It's better that way'. I'm also going to congratulate myself for finding the resolve to get my June release out on time, against difficult odds.
I'm fortunate enough that, although I won't be physically working, I'll still be earning a living from my other books and I'll also have the time to actively promote them and maybe blog a bit more.
So, apologies to those I'm letting down. Who knows, inspiration might strike and I might ease myself in gently with a Christmas novella but, for now, I'm just letting plots bubble in my head until I feel strong enough again.
As always, thanks to all those who have read my books and continue to support me - not only with my writing but also through a tough time.