It’s been almost two weeks since I finished the first draft of my first novel. I had plans to write several short stories that were floating around in my head to spend the time between now and revision on Raven’s Mark. It hasn’t happened yet. I’ve tried several times to sit down and put something to paper (or keyboard). What few words sputter out end up worthy of the recycle bin. I can’t stop thinking about my last story. It’s like this movie that keeps playing over and over in my head, soundtrack included.
A new story is starting a rolling boil in my brain. I’m timid to start it as yet because it will be a long one. It’s not in the same universe as Raven’s Mark, which is slated to be a trilogy, but in a world much like our own and crosses over into a fantasy world. As I’m making notes, both mental and scribbled, I’m finding it reminiscent of Charles de Lint. To top off the mix of two worlds, I also see it as being a story-within-a-story. I have the feeling it will be a fun one to write. When I think long enough on it, the hairs on my arms and neck stand on end and tingle. That has always been a sign of a good idea for me.
I plan to take whatever time I can this weekend to get a few more pages down in whatever short story pushes its way to the forefront of my thoughts. I have three choices: something eerie (maybe even leaving a bad taste in your mouth kind of feeling), something sad yet somehow insightful, or something silly to make people wonder, “What goes on in that skull of yours?” Really, probably any one of the three would make people wonder that.
As for now, I must head off to work. It’s a miserable thing to have to do on a Saturday. That is unless you love your work. In which case you would be hard pressed not to show up for work. Since I don’t fall under the latter, I shall drag my feet out the door.