It seems that I have just given birth to my first novel. If you have followed me for a while, you will recall that I finished writing my first book late last year. That was a loose memoir. Since then I have turned my attention to fiction. And it has been an enjoyable journey.
But in the last couple of weeks, my first novel actually came to life. I've been writing on it a lot longer than that, but it just took off and has gained a life of its own. I eat, drink and sleep the characters and their interactions. I lay down at night and can't sleep because the thoughts and ideas won't stop. I have paper and pencil on my night stand for my hastily scrawled notes of who needs to say what to whom, and why.
It is a living, breathing thing, larger than myself. There is no way to stop it now. It's like Godzilla in New York, only I don't think I could kill it if I tried. But that's the beauty of it - I don't want to kill it. I love it. I'm excited by it. It's not work anymore. I'm not having to expend effort to figure out where I need to take the plot or how to introduce a clue. Instead things are just popping into my head - constantly! Is this what it feels like to be an author? I sure hope so, otherwise "the voices" in my head might be hard to explain.
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