With my first novel, Granny’s Got a Boyfriend, soon to be published, I decided to
reactivate my blog, and I will begin by telling you a story. The story is entitled “How my first
novel was born.”
The novel began with words tumbling around in my head at 5 a.m. one morning as I lay
in bed wide awake and unable to get back to sleep. There were just a few ideas at first, despite
my efforts to push them away. Then actual dialogue began to come to the fore. One sentence
followed another, until I finally thought, “Maybe I should get up and write this down.” I went to
my computer and began writing. After two hours of rapid clacking on the keyboard, I realized
this was the beginning of a book. I’ve no idea why I suddenly found the opening of a book
rushing through my head. I’d never written fiction, but here I was at 7 a.m., without so much as a
cup of coffee, writing a novel.
Perhaps I should say the novel was writing itself, because when I went back to it later
that day, the words kept flowing. Would that it had remained so easy, but after Ann tripped,
Bryan helped her up, and they made their way back down the trail. I didn’t know where they
were going next. It seemed to be their story, not mine.
The following day, the story seemed to be waiting for me. Bryan said this, Ann said that,
and the next thing I knew, they were having dinner.
I was talking with a fellow writer the other day, and we discussed how some authors plot
out every curve in the road before they sit down to write. Others seem to let the story develop of
its own accord. I appear to be one of the latter, because Ann and Bryan and all the other
characters in the book seemed to be standing off stage waiting to deliver their lines when the
time was right. Initially, their words and actions left much to be desired. Practice, i.e., editing,
draft after draft, would finally yield a solid performance. But it took well over a year for the story
to come to an end. And the joys and sorrows of that year will be the subject of the forthcoming
episodes of this blog.