Too Hot, and Busy

That’s summer for ya! I really can’t stand the heat, and I’d love to get out of the kitchen. The husband refuses to move to Iceland, which I find rather selfish! I’m not painting the office again until the heat and humidity sink a little, but I’m writing!

Working on a little Christmas novella and planning a longer project. I’m looking for magic. So–I’m not trying to be logical or rational or even professional. I’m just mining for magic. I’m planning by writing into the depths of this place and these characters until I find the exact feeling I’m after. No method, no steps, no process.

Just mining.

An Idea… a Gift

Idea Locker

Ill-timed, but totally welcome. I’m working on revisions (AKA rewriting to put the correct conflict front and center. Oddly, not an easy adjustment. If the conflict is wrong, you seriously have to rewrite.)

Anyway, there I was, nose to the grindstone, or computer screen, when a new idea popped into my head. Not so much popped as exploded. A writer has to handle new ideas with care. They’re so seductive. At first glance, they’re like a honeymoon–only the best parts of the marriage with words. All possibility and sparkly, shiny scenes crooking their siren’s fingers. (Oh, wait–I’m a woman. Would a siren be a problem for me?)

There is nothing like a new idea to make you abandon a rewrite. Especially a rewrite that reminds me–after sixteen published books, I completely chased the backstory instead of the actual conflict.

I’ve been seduced by new ideas before. Sometimes, I just let them float around, teasing me with their shiny. Sometimes, I shut the door on them and insist they wait their turn. Lately, though, with rejection and all, new ideas don’t have a lot of shiny for me. I’m feeling less than confident, so I think “could I really write that?” Not this one. (Please let this be the beginning of the end of my crisis of confidence.) It’s all depth and challenge and excitement, and I thought, why not open a file and just jot down a few pages. The first few pages of any story are a beautiful revelation.

Back away, foolish one.

Obvious answer. I don’t need no stinking revelation when I have a stinking rewrite. I need a gatekeeper.

So I took out my lovely notebook and jotted notes until the Don Juan of ideas quieted to a low murmur instead of shouting at me.

Today’s new idea really is a gift. But–do other people have to play mental games with their jobs to keep themselves working?