My Novel Talks to Me

It took the last two days to get my short story back on track. I was having trouble. Thanks, everyone, for letting me work through it with you.

The weekend is a good time for most people to get going. It is a time I need to get going as well. Now that my protagonist has had a physical altercation with a tree, screamed so loud the neighbors could hear, and terrified his faithful little dog, it is time for him to explain himself to the neighbors. I can’t wait to see how he gets out of this one without the neighbor thinking he is crazy.

 I also haven’t decided if his foot is going to be broken or not. Driving himself to the doctor with a broken foot could be fun, but the story might end up not being so short after all, if I keep doing things like that. Novelette perhaps?

I already know how my story is going to end. I just don’t know how it is going to get there. This is the third time I have written it and it is completely different from the two earlier versions.  Neither of them seemed to work. I’m hoping this one works better.

Surely I am not the only one rewriting an earlier work. Camp NaNo is a time when this is acceptable. I’m a rebel. A rebel with a talking tree and a story that won’t leave me alone. It keeps screaming “Write me. Write me.” Hey, I’m trying.

I asked the folks in my cabin what the strangest things their characters had done, and got some intriguing answers. It is always fun to see inside the mind of a fellow writer.

Why do they call them “fellows” anyway? I’m not a fellow. I’m a gal. Only, when it comes to writers am I a “fellow”.

I guess I had better get back to my story. I can hear old Mr. Clyde coming down the road now.

 

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