What’s My Problem?

I have a problem.

I have one completed young adult fantasy novel: written, edited, beta read, edited again, revised, and formatted. My attempts to find an agent have (so far) been unsuccessful. I’m pondering options between a complete rewrite, continued queries with the book as is, or pursuing self-publication.

That’s not my problem.

While in the query trenches I started writing my next book, a speculative fiction novel about a pandemic and superpowers set in Seattle. Then last year during the holiday season, I began the first draft of a Christmas themed horror story (for which I previously had an outline ready) which is also set in Seattle. Both of those books are somewhere in the middle stages of composition. I’m bouncing back and forth between them based on my emotional state. Am I in a scary mood or an action mood?

But that’s not my problem either.

My brain is always active, even when I’m not writing. New ideas abound. There is a note in my phone’s notes app with a list of sixty-six story ideas. They range from kid-lit to adult audiences. A few of them are ideas my wife and I want to collaborate on, one is my 12 year old daughter’s idea. They are mostly horror stories, science fiction, and fantasy tales with a few thrillers. Some of them have brief blurbs, some have more fleshed out descriptions with character names, and a few have full-fledged outlines waiting for me to place fingertips to keyboard.

Even that isn’t my problem.

There is a spreadsheet saved on my laptop with every character name I’ve ever used. Completed novel, work in progress, synopsis, outline, blurb, random notes. All of it has been combed through for every named character, living or dead, speaking on nonspeaking, human or animal. It is a simple spreadsheet with two columns, one for the character’s identity, and one for the title of the book where the character appears or is mentioned.

Obsessive, but not a problem.

Yesterday, my list of sixty-six grew to sixty-seven. This morning, I composed an outline for this new inspiration. As if that wasn’t enough (thanks to my autistic power to hyper focus) I wrote the first draft of the first chapter for my sixty-seventh WIP during my lunch break.

We’re getting closer to my problem but this still isn’t it.

What’s my real problem? Is it ADHD? Possibly. Is it the autism? Also likely. Is it the abundance of potential, multitude of unfinished projects, and the sheer volume of material in limbo? Absolutely. But the biggest problem from all of it?

I don’t know what to do with any of it. Call it choice paralysis. Call it SQUIRREL! Call it biting off more than I can chew. Call it an overactive imagination. Call it wishful thinking. Call it procrastination. Call it anything you want.

Whatever it is, clearly, I have a problem.