While doing the dishes yesterday, as mindless a thing as it
really is, I was struck by Inspiration. It has been a good eight years since
this last happened.
When I was in high school, I had an idea for a young adult
novel. By the time I finished the book (or as finished as a seventeen year old
would write a novel), I realized that the storyline wasn’t complete and it
really should be a trilogy. And so with that, I started writing book two
immediately and, well, haven’t written much since because that middle chapter
in a series has the most pressure to be better than its predecessor. Alas, it
is now seventeen years later since I’ve plotted out any words for this book…
until yesterday.
First of all, I’m horrible with doing things like “Outlines”
and “Character Dossiers” even though I attempted to do both of these things
with part two. I actually have more written for book three than I had total
pages for book one when I originally wrote it, although after fleshing it out
and deleting unnecessary or unneeded scenes (a painful process to say the
least) back in 2004, I managed to double the size of the first book. Book two, on
the other hand, I only had three chapters written, along with random thoughts
and ideas thrown out on two different computers for possible plot points which,
of course, would only come in the middle of the night when I should have been
sleeping.
Second, I love the process of writing that involves nothing
more than an inanimate object for inspiration.
My Creative Writing teacher in high school gave us an assignment whereupon he
brought a pile of dirt and told us to write about it. I immediately started
writing what would become a key chapter in the first young adult novel in this
series I’m trying to finish. Of course, the teacher asked for a poem or short
story, and me being me, chose to write a chapter in a book. Poetry isn’t one of
my strong suits, but I must admit, I find them easier to write the older I get.
Anyway, the teacher wanted more, so each weekly assignment we were given was
the next chapter in the book and by the end of the year it was done. Well,
mostly done.
After submitting it for publication the following year, I
received some excellent feedback, but ultimately a rejection. The editor asked
one very simple question that has stuck with me ever since: “Why should we care
about these characters?” It was blunt and honest and true. In my head, these
characters were very real, but in black and white they were one dimensional and
lacking personality. After that, life got in the way. Being out in the real
world made for a very different perspective. Experiencing life that, while
sheltered in high school I never could fully appreciate, helped me realize what
I needed to do. I knew I had to reread the first book and figure out what I
could do to make it work. It was a promise I made to my grandmother on her
deathbed, and a promise I intend to keep, no matter how long it takes.
And so, while holding a knife and cleaning bits of stuck-on
garlic carefully so as to not slice my fingers off because, yes, it is that
sharp, a scene that would fit perfectly into book two popped into my head which
helped me plot out the rest of the book. Sometimes Inspiration takes her time,
but when it hits, magic happens. I can’t wait to continue with this next
chapter in my life.
