You’ve finished your book, and even the lingering celebration/book hangover from that project is gone. Maybe you’ve published it, or you’re querying, or you’re simply letting it sit before revisions. Now’s the time: you’re ready for something new!
Only you’re not.
Because you’re not sure what to work on next.
What’s the problem?
This isn’t necessarily as simple as “I don’t know what to write!”
Usually, there is a specific kind of indecisiveness when it comes to working on your next project – and that means a specific kind of approach to resolve it.
See if any of these feel like what you’re experiencing:
Problem 1: total blank.
No ideas whatsoever. Just staring at the wall, trying not to bang your head against it as desperation grows.
Probable cause: you’re burned out.
Possible solution: self-care, self-care, self-care. Writers are notorious for running themselves into the ground. If you’re a complete blank, you’re probably crispy around the edges. Work on some healthy routines – drink water, get some more sleep, do some stuff that replenishes you, like reading or watching stuff, or walking in nature. Whatever works for you. Do that for a few weeks, don’t push yourself to write. It’ll come back naturally.
If it doesn’t, you may simply be pressuring yourself too much, especially if you’re thinking you have to. If you don’t have an idea, you won’t write. If you don’t write, you won’t be able to publish on the break-neck schedule that will allow you to keep up in the market and, say, pay bills. If that’s the case, a few weeks of sleep isn’t going to solve it (although it won’t hurt and will ultimately make things easier, I promise.)
We’ll address that concern more in a minute.
Problem 2: too many ideas, all over the place.
No problem coming up with ideas here!
The thing is, you’ve got the idea for a twisty noir thriller, a fluffy rom com about rival race car drivers, and a high fantasy about halflings who wind up saving a kingdom through baking. (You’re not even going to talk about the middle grade adventure that popped into your head in the shower.)
But what to pick?
Probable cause: some of it’s the freedom of finishing your previous project. As someone with ADHD, I can also testify to having this explosion of chaos creativity most of the time as a side effect of being neuro-atypical or “neurospicy.” (And often while I’m working on a project, unfortunately. My poor agent!)
Possible solutions: look at what you’re trying to accomplish with your career.
If you’ve got a backlist and a readership foundation that you’re trying to gain traction within, say, cozy mystery, those readers might not carry over to your high fantasy halfling bakers.
If you’re writing more for fun and you’re not worried about building that readership, or you write really quickly and that audience isn’t expecting anything for a while, then you can branch out.
But if you’re serious about growing your readers and your numbers, then maybe choose a project that’s more on-brand. Build a series, maybe. Expand on a current world. See if you can iterate what you’ve been writing to better fit that audience.
Problem 3: trying to pick the most “successful” idea.
Remember when I said we’d talk about the pressure of needing to write to make money?
This falls under that umbrella.
You feel like you have to succeed. So you freeze, trying to decipher which of the ideas you come up with is the guarantee, the lock that will finally get you some financial breathing room or launch you to enough success to, say, quit your day job.
All these other authors talk about being six figures. How can you do that?
Unfortunately, this kind of desperation usually acts like a bear trap on your creativity. The minute you fixate on needing it, you’re shutting it out. You’re going to have to learn to release that pressure.
I know, trust me, I know that’s easier said than done. It’s like being super stressed and having someone tell you to relax. A friend of mine said “it’s like holding a seashell to your ear while someone’s got a gun to your head.” But it’s the only way.
Possible solutions: affirmations, like “I am safe” or “I can trust my creativity.” (Yes, for those of you who aren’t particularly “woo-woo” this can seem nuts. If you feel like you’re full of crap saying this stuff, or even thinking it, don’t use it.)
Meditative practice helps, too, as far as quieting down the desperation and pressure (and stuff like, heart health and anxiety levels and whatnot. That’s been clinically proven, actually.)
Finally, get support. That can mean other writers that you meet in person or online, who get what you’re going through. (In my experience, even the most well-meaning “civilians” don’t quite get it.)
Feel free to email me, too, by the way. I’ve been in the trenches, and I get it.
Problem 4: can’t choose between two or more ideas in a genre.
You know what your personal goal is, you know the genre you’ve been working in (or one you want to work in.) Unfortunately, you’ve got a bunch of ideas that might work.
Let’s go with the cozy mystery writer again. Let’s say you’ve been writing cozies, just closed out a series and you’re thinking of starting a new one. You’ve previously written about a bookstore owner and a pet shop owner, and they’re selling a bit, but nothing special. You want to take a leap. How?
First, look at what people like about the series you’ve already written (you can see those in reviews, if you have reviews.) Are there commonalities? What do they like?
Next, look at reviews for your comps – in this case, other cozy writers. What are people loving about those series? Can you incorporate some elements?
Finally, which of the ideas have something that’s a bit shocking? It still needs to fulfill the reader expectations, but you want it to stand out, too. How can you surprise them, while still being a cozy? Not just “not a baker… this amateur sleuth is a librarian!” Truly different. This is hard, and will take time, but it’s worth it.
Above all, trust your gut.
On some level, your intuition, your “gut reaction,” will have a preference. Learn to trust your gut, at least by getting quiet and listening to it, seeing where it nudges you.