A friend emailed me yesterday to ask if I was still alive. Because he doesn’t follow me on social media, and I’ve done a woeful job of responding to email for the last couple of months, from his viewpoint, I did disappear.
Actually, I’ve narrowed my interaction through social media too. You may have noticed my sporadic blogging. I have to remind myself even to update my Facebook status. Apparently, I find it hard to write fiction and non-fiction simultaneously. In other words, I can’t think/write and “talk” at the same time.
Now, as you may know, I’m editing that fiction, so I’m still in my own little world. The editing is going well, but my story’s world is not always a happy place. I sink deep into my main character’s head and when she’s angry or depressed that tends to become my mood too. According to my husband, I’ve not been pleasant to live with, lately. (That’s my excuse, at least.)
Writing a sequel is harder than I expected. I had most of the characters already developed, but that’s also limiting. Several times, I’ve wished I could change something I wrote in The Brevity of Roses because it didn’t work with what I wanted to write in the sequel. If I were to write another book I believed deserved a sequel, I’d write a synopsis of the sequel while I wrote the prequel.
That said, I don’t plan to write any more sequels, and definitely not a series. (Did I just jinx myself?) I don’t know what I’ll write next. Oh, I have my first novel that I still think about revising, and I have the beginnings and notes on another novel and two novellas, but I don’t, yet, feel any of those will be next.
Are novelists supposed to have several books, outlined and synopsized, in the queue at all times? If so, I’m off-track again.
Image courtesy of agathabrown / Morguefile