I’m writing this as more of a reminder to myself. ;-)
I have started the process of writing the sequel to Iron Thirst. It doesn’t have a name yet, but neither did IT at this point. Which brings me to my point…
I have noticed that I start feeling a little overwhelmed when I begin working on the new book. I’m intimidated by the process and find that I get all fuzzy headed when I start putting the thoughts on paper. After doing a little soul searching, I have figured out why.
The first book started with one scene, progressed to two, and continued to grow. I don’t think I ever actually believed that I would write a book, so there was no pressure. This go round it seems different. I know what I am up to. I want to write a book, and get aggravated at how little I know about how it will turn out, what new characters we will meet, etc.
So, I decided to go back and look at how I wrote the first one.
As I have discussed before, I write mosaic style which I didn’t even know was a real style when I started. I just touched the book a little bit each day. I built an outline, and then would write what I felt. When I felt mushy, I wrote the love scenes. When I felt silly, I focused on the humor. When I was pissy, I would kill people. (Only in the book!) In the new book, there seems to be a lot of dead people. Not sure what that means Mmm… anyway.
Even the characters were built like a quilt. Little pieces of fabric from people I’ve met. No one character is a mirror image of anyone else. Not even me. More of a buffet with tiny samples that ended up filling the personality plate of the character.
I enjoyed watching the word count grow. From hundreds to thousands to tens of thousands. Each day I added a little more. And I did not know from one day to the next the direction the book would take me. One little piece of inspiration would drag me down a completely different road. It’s amazing how separated I felt from the process. I didn’t feel like I was the one in control. These characters were in my head telling me their story. Sometimes even when I didn’t want to listen. It is a very humbling experience.
Again, this is more of a letter to myself, reminding me to be patient. The story will reveal itself when it’s ready, and not a moment before. Until then I will cuddle the first book; it hasn’t left the nest yet.