The "mood to write" is like hunger.  Either you're hungry, or you're not.  You can force yourself to eat, but the food won't taste as good, and it probably won't satisfy you.  

Writing is that way for me.  I have some good ideas floating around in here, but without the hunger to express them, they feel like a waste.  Wasted ideas, like wasted time, are hard to recover once they're gone.  They're difficult to re-think with the same energy, and even then it's hard to know if they're as good.

Currently I have 3 projects going.  One is brilliant, clearly my best idea, but it's emotionally draining to work on, so I really have to be in the right place to noodle with it.  I'm so not there this week.  It's not a trashy smut novel, but instead a book about a woman, a mom, who is lost and looking for passion in her life.  It's not about infidelity, crime, or drugs, so it's probably not interesting enough to publish, but it's real, and funny, and depressing all at the same time.

One is pretty pat, but it's easy to work on, and that's probably why I'm not inspired by it.  Its a dark story that is hard to write about when it's so pretty and sunny outside.  Surely I can't write about a frozen city under a mask of night when the cardinals and finches are flitting about the bird feeder outside the window.

The last project that I'm working on is just aged.  I've fooled around with it for 4 years.  Four years.  I have the whole outline, the entire idea is formed from opening page until the last chapter, but i can't seem to get it out.  There is a plot hang-up that I need to work out *it could use a villain, but other than that, it's a perfectly sound, logical, interesting, sexy story.  It has the most amazing alpha male character ever, who, ironically, looks and acts a lot like SDD with expressive eyes, a sharp wit, thick dark hair and yes, a trim waist and long legs.  Probably one of the reasons I enjoy SDD so much is that I wrote the character before I met him.  But, as much as I want to be done with the story so I can put it away and move on to my next rejection letter, I can't seem to write it.

I'm beginning to think that the rejection letters are the problem.  Like a diet pill for authors, the repeated rejections suppress my need for words.  Except here of course, where I ramble in circles on what seems to be a daily basis.