The new story is scheduled, I have another chapter finished on my final draft, and I’m about a third of the way through Witchfinder, which I’ll review for the blog this weekend. (Preliminary review: Intriguing, and definitely an interesting setting. I like the main characters. Seems like a romantic fantasy novel of intrigue, though not overly heavy on any of those factors… in other words, nicely balanced.) All in all, it was a productive day.
In other news, I sketched out two ideas for next week’s story, and even wrote a little exploring one of them. And two more ideas cropped up while I was doing that. Interestingly enough, when I first conceived of doing this project, I was worried that I would write my small stock of ideas and freeze, like when I would teach a fifty-minute class and finish the material in forty minutes. And yes, writing books always say to have faith in your muse, and if you write every day, you will rarely be completely blocked. (This is true for me, in the sense that I might get blocked on the main project I’m working on, but if I have a couple of things spinning, I can shift to the other one until I figure out what went wrong.) And in fact, whenever I wrote a novel, new ideas would wash up like driftwood on a beach or that unavoidable ring in the bathtub after you spent three hours in there with a bottle of brandy and a bunch of candles (two of which fell in the water at some point) crying over your current block and refusing to look at the other projects. But I never expected anything like what’s happening with my stories.
Picture this: I sit down to flesh out one idea and in the middle of the story, another one jumps up. So I jot down that idea and go back to writing. Then I get to the other idea, and two more jump up. So I jot those ideas down and another three ideas come up. And then… and then…
You’d think this would be pleasant, but it’s not. By now, I have four stories up on my page, written in four weeks, and ten idea jumping around my desk like little ducks on crystal. And I know the minute I pick one up, set it on my desk, and tell its story, he’s going to spit up another three or five or twenty.
I guess the only solution is to write faster.