This week, I did something I hadn’t done in a really, really long time. I began work on a new novel. Not a media tie-in. Not work-for-hire set in someone else’s world. This novel is mine through and through. And it felt great.

So far, I haven’t gotten a lot written. I never do at the outset of a new project. It usually takes me a couple of weeks to find my pace and start churning out pages the way I like to. On the first day, though, I got a thousand words written. Good words. Words I like. Long words, short words, fat words, skinny words, words that climb on rocks, yes, my friends, even words with chickenpox….

Seriously, it felt wonderful. I have found myself thinking about this new book all the time, daydreaming ideas for descriptive passages and plot twists even when I’m far from my computer. I can’t tell you how long it’s been since I did that. At least a couple of years.

No, this is not a continuation of any series you’ve read before. It’s something entirely new, utterly different. I won’t say more than that for now.

I am sure that my enthusiasm for the project will wax and wane, as it does with all projects. There will come moments when the writing is nothing but a slog. There will be days when I curse the book and its characters, when I want nothing more than to chuck the whole thing. That is part of the process. Even my favorite books piss me off at times. I have never written anything that was a joy start to finish. Writing just isn’t that easy. To my knowledge, no artistic pursuit is. Nothing worth doing is.

And life will get in the way now and then. That happens, too. Just yesterday, I spent the whole day dealing with homeowner stuff — annoying, distracting, ultimately, I expect, very expensive. That is part of being a writer as well. Stuff gets in the way.

The story remains, though. The world and plot and characters will be there when I get back to them. They’ll be impatient, miffed at me for leaving them in stasis for a day or a week or whatever. A good book, though, stays fresh, even during the interruptions. This one is no different.

Yes, my hiatus from writing was a byproduct of my grieving process. My return to writing is not an indication that my grief is spent. It never will be. I will grieve my darling Alex for the rest of my life. As I’ve said before, I wouldn’t have it any other way. Grief is an expression of love, and my love for her was limitless. But she wouldn’t want to be the reason I stopped writing forever, any more than she’d want me to give up on happiness or love or life because she’s gone.

Writing is part of who I am, and after a long absence I feel that I am ready to be me again, for good or ill. Alex would approve, I believe.

So, I ‘m back at it, and I will keep you updated as I work my way through this newest manuscript.

Enjoy the rest of your week. And Happy New Year.