I started The Sand Bar Nov. 1 in a futile attempt to do NaNoWriMo. I got to 12,000 words, and gave up because of time constraints. But hey! That’s 12k more words than I’d written in Octobre. So my goal is to finish this up realistically by the end of February 2006.
This is do-able. Then I plan to put it aside for a month, before I take it back out and revise the crap out of it.
... and now I’m gonna finish it. Therefore, I changed the title of this item to reflect my current goal. :D
Having moved from the ultraserious thriller to the lighthearted kind is a good move for me. I’ve been very productive on my first foray into this genre. I’ve almost completed the plot outline, and am working on storyboarding the plot (to keep track of the dense details and twists). I hope to be able to start writing the first draft next week!
Further details on my blog (http://basquette.typepad.com) but basically, the whole “open a law firm” thing was going strong, til I was blessed with a mirror (someone going through a similar struggle who serves as a demonstration of one pathway, reflecting back to me my patterns, thoughts, and options) who announced suddenly she wasn’t doing this anymore because she really wanted to be a writer. This prompted me to acknowledge my own leanings in this direction – secret fantasies! deep dark dreams! – and I’m giving myself til July 31 to make the decision (it’s one I’ve been wrestling with honestly for over ten years so the deadline is appropriate in thsi case).
Writer? Lawyer? Who knows! Maybe both – definitely for the time being, since I can’t afford to just up and quit. But the big decision will be made. Stay tuned.
... for novels this morning on the walk with the dog. It was essentially a case of my imagination running away with me, and from there, just playing “what if”? And it went like this:
Oh god is that a man peeking in little neighbor Anna’s window? No, just a tree..
.. but what if it was a guy?
... and what if he was a pedophile? ... a serial pedophile? ... and what if Rose weren’t my dog but someone else’s – and I was dog-sitting… and what if I weren’t a lawyer but a retired canine cop turned dog trainer … and what if this weren’t an open subdivision but a gated one and the dad couldn’t get the police interested because I caught the guy peeking so no crime was actually committed … but why wouldn’t they be interested … maybe he died while he was in my custody … and how did he die? ... he had a poison pill, which – the hell? Why would a pedophile carry around cyanide? .... maybe he wasn’t really a pedophile but ….
And there I’m stopping, in case I actually decide to write this one.
I have two books in my head. One of them is a nonfiction memoir/polemic about the way I’ve dealt with pain, and the way American medical professionals and society in general deal (or don’t deal) with the subject and those who suffer from chronic pain. The other is a work of fiction (and well, to be honest, I think there are actually seven or eight or forty of those ideas in my head).
Right now, I’m trying to focus on some of these other goals that I think are more crucial to my sense of wellbeing. But I’m still thinking about it, mulling over ideas and which one “speaks” to me more.