I've started working on a new novel.
I love this part, where the story is still full of promise and energy. I love how my imagination runs wild with the first draft.
Except that I can't rein it in. Not only am I awake late at night thinking of scenes I won't write until months from now, I'm thinking about other novels! It's sort of like watching a syndicated show on a cable station that splices in extra commercial time. Did that make sense to you? Maybe not. I've been taking medication for this ear ache for four days now and it's making me loopy. Come to think of it, that might be the reason why my thoughts jump between a damp prison cell in an old fortress and a surreal carnival/party in an abandoned mansion. One moment it's the slow drip of water and unseen things rustling in the dark, the next it's harlequins and fire eaters on unicycles in a house with tilted floors and walls. One character wraps her arms around her knees and contemplates revenge versus justice. Another brushes Sophie's hair from her neck and kisses her. His lips linger. As he lifts his head, a drop of blood wells on her skin.
Yeah, see, this is how it goes. I'm trying to write the first novel and the second one is doing its best to seduce me away. Stop nibbling on Sophie, George! Stop. Do not let her tie you to the chair and... Just cut it... damn, that's hot.