Now I know this title sounds strange. How could not writing be considered an art? I'm speaking for myself, although I have spoken to many authors who have the same issue as I do. That is the time after you have completed your "baby" and it's in the hands of an editor or beta reader. You're in a state of suspension. Every morning, evening, or whenever you chose to write, you diligently sat down and let the characters in your mind spill out and unfold a story that has been your focus ... your purpose. And when that time is over, I personally am left with a hollow emptiness. Somewhat like empty nest syndrome.
I've created it, nurtured it and soon I will send it out into the world. However, it's not quite time. There are the edits that will be made after it is fingers crossed submitted and accepted, the cover search, the preview and then the availing. But in the silence of the in between I must figure out what to do. I don't want to jump right into the next story. I need time for closure. I usually give myself a week or two. I could read a new book and sometimes I do. But most of the time I can't concentrate because I find myself consumed in the in between. So I search for things to occupy my mind as it finds its way back to a place where I can let the new voices out.
Promo is great because it does take time. I try to get creative, well as much as I can. I'm not very skilled in this aspect of my writing career. Nonetheless, I'm out there plugging away. I find projects. The closet needs to be cleaned out, clothes for Goodwill, new recipes to try for dinner. You get the picture. This is where the art form comes in. Fine tuning and cultivating time. It's actually hard work. Exhausting at times. I'd rather be writing.
So here's to the art of not writing. May it never last long, always result in something productive and never leave you wanting for more.