The Months-Long Lie
Of course I've hidden behind lies before.
Little white lies to spare me some embarrassment.
Lies of omission to spare someone's feelings.
And the one I’ve been living for months now.It was January when I came up with a basic concept for a new thriller; so basic that it had no story attached, no plot, no characters, no setting. But it sent waves of creative excitement that had me rushing to finish my current work-in-progress. I wanted to write this book!.
At the end of March, with the other project out of the way, and in and around travels, school visits, and conference appearances, I got to it.
Finally! By June 1, I even had a lengthy synopsis within 12 single-space pages
of some really good stuff. Time to start writing!
But I didn’t. Not really. I dabbled when I should have been typing my fingers off. And that Monday, I doubted whether this was the book for me to write at all.
No. Wait. I'd been stuck in the quagmire before, clawed my way out, and had written some books that exceeded my
expectations. So, I took a breath, forged on, following a method that had
saved me in the past. And it did. The excitement
returned.
This was THE book.
Then Thursday, it happened again. The doubts. The questions. Why was I
still twirling in circles, looking to regain the spark that ignited this whole
journey? All those notes. All those ideas. That passion was here
somewhere, right? Or was I traveling a wayward path?
No. I was good! And then…
It hit.
I'd been lying to myself.
While the concept
still excited me, while the main character had some chops, while the setting
was nearly there, I knew. I was trying to fit my square peg of an idea
into the round hole of who I am as an author.
"Done!" Time to move on, but not for good.
I pivoted. Not a 180, though. More of a 45-degree with about two pages of those notes still viable and a new approach that immediately had me working with energy. This is what the right idea feels like. This is the way it should be, usually is.
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