I’m brewing up a new book idea. It’s fresh, it’s clever, and I don’t think it’s been done in women’s fiction before. (Of course, this can be tricky with my genre, as one wants to be innovative without straying too far from the fold.) But the important thing is, I’m excited about it.
Like, when I talk about it with friends, kernels of ideas pop and things get wacky. My favorite part of writing – the “Ooh, and then maybe this happens, and then, like, that happens, and THEN…” – the spitballing, brainstorming, brewing, and machinating all kick into gear.
Later, it gets tricky. Because you have to wrangle all that out-there energy and wrestle it into one coherent plot. Characters get nailed down, and storylines emerge, from which one best not deviate. The hard work ensues. What makes sense? How do I get the protagonist from A to B to C?
And all the while you wonder… does this kooky idea have legs? Can it go from clever premise to 400 solid pages?
Now’s a time of possibilities, and uncertainty. Anyone who knows me knows I love the former and loathe the latter. I appreciate this time of creative freedom – I really do – but I’d like to know I’m on the right track… soon.