I wrote a post a while ago about the life cycle of a blog. It's about the different stages you go through as a blogger; how sometimes we are all excitement and inspiration and post three times a day and at other times just lurk silently in the mud, lacking in energy, time or inspiration to say anything of interest.
I've been lurking in the mud for a while.
This is because I've had stuff going on, but is mainly because I have been writing a novel - a new one; one I'm very excited about and have been completely immersed in, hence the bloggy silence. Anyone who reads this blog regularly will know that one of my biggest dreams in life is to be a published author. I've made some steps in the right direction, but until that novel is staring down at me from the shelves of the bookshops, I just cannot let it lie (as a certain Mr Reeves and Mortimer used to say).
Being an aspiring novelist is a very frustrating thing and is certainly not for the faint-hearted. From those thrilling moments when a brilliant idea pops into your head and you can't stop writing and creating and plotting and planning, to the inevitable slump when you get stuck on a detail or have crippling self doubt and re-read your work and convince yourself it is the worst thing ever written - ever. Then back to a fleeting moment of giddy excitement when you make contact with an agent or publisher and there is interest and hope and then more frustration, waiting and waiting for feedback or getting the feedback you didn't want to get and on it goes....
Well, I had a bit of a revelation at the weekend about my 'authorial' quest (I know that isn't a proper word but I like it, so it's staying in) and it happened as I was riding a rollercoaster at a funfair with my two boys. We sized up the big rollercoaster but the little fella wasn't tall enough and the bigger fella wasn't sure, so we opted for the smaller one (they are only 3 and 5 after all - and we'd all had a lot of ice cream). But, small as it was, as the clink, clink, clink of the incline turned into the rush of the descent, I watched their little faces and they were so excited. Round we went, up and down and around the corners and they squealed with delight and wanted to ride it again and again and again.
"Mummy, I'm a bit scared being this high up," admitted my five year old as we set off again the next day. He was smiling as he said this though, and followed it up with, "But I still like it." And that's the point of rollercoasters, isn't it - that even though they frighten most people, we still line up to go on them because for all the fear and trepidation and suspense, the thrill of the rush down the other side is oh so worth it.
And that, I have realised, is exactly why I will keep writing and keep dreaming about that novel of mine on the shelf. Because, even though it would be much easier, I don't want to stand and watch everyone else having all the excitement - I want to know what it feels like when you finally do get to the top and go hurtling down the other side.
So, I'm back in the queue, heart-pounding, knuckles at the ready.