This morning I nearly wore down a pencil's eraser while mapping out Grappleton Street in Braxton, Maine, the fictional town in my novel-in-progress. Great fun on a rainy day. Satisfying work.
When I wrote my memoir, Sing Me a Lullaby, I knew and understood the characters, story, and themes I fashioned into a manuscript (art, hopefully) for readers to enjoy.
The novel is different. I'm writing toward a general direction and that's all. Writing a memoir was overwhelming enough. A novel is free-fall.
Writing a novel is like solving a word puzzle on a grand scale. The words are typed out in neat lines and rows waiting to be rearranged and moved or discarded - order brought to chaos. Scenes unfold like fine pieces of linen.
Of course, all writers know the work must discover its own path, pace, and personality. All I need to do is show up, stand aside, and allow it to happen.
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