Why Did I Do It?
Starting a new novel was a accident. Why did I begin to haul another book out of midair almost the minute I’d sent this one to be published? There was a whiteboard in my brain, erased and swoops like the water color clouds making upside down commas on the sky today. I was empty of story, the characters are gone to their own lives and readers minds. No longer my daily companions.
I was as lonely as when I was a child, sitting in my bedroom, wondering how to make up my life, make my own fun as my parents told me. Looking at the books I borrowed from the library and wondering if I could make one of them, ever.
Do All Writers Just Need New Playmates?
it was December. The holidays make everyone lonely. And it gets dark just when I should be going out for a walk. I had no imaginary playmates unless I made them up. And of course I told myself it will just be a short story, maybe a novella. A short one. So who would I like to play with? And I turned to one of my old playmates. Jane Austen was sitting in the corner in her filmy regency muslins sprigged with green dots and little flowers, a fussy cap on her head that didn’t keep the curls from whispering around her forehead. She turned those big round eyes to me and said I like your century. I could play here.
This is how it starts, dictating on my phone. It was going to be a short story, maybe a novella. A little bit of fun with an imaginary person that I throw into an improbable situation. Maybe a problem, maybe a puzzle. One day I will write a murder mystery, if I can bear to live with the idea of a murder for a year. It always takes me a year to write a book. That’s a long time to live with your imaginary friends. But on the other hand, it’s lonely without them. When you send them off to be published.
The Upshot
So here I am six months into a new year, with Jane Austen tagging around like my younger sister. The sister I never had. The one I keep making up. She likes the 21st-century. She might even want to go see the 23rd, but I won’t let her. I’ve seen it. It’s no place for a Regency debutante. Or maybe that will be next year‘s book.
I have summer weeks ahead of me of completing and editing this draft. Then it will go to my lovely beta readers and I will read their reviews and suggestions, make more edits and then send to a copy editor. During the summer I’ll also write marketing copy, have my designer create a cover, and plan to launch a new book.
All because I couldn’t bear the loneliness of Christmas without my playmates.
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