Today I’m making a public confession. I’ve been a novel writing procrastinator. I haven’t given up writing for days, that’s not it. I faithfully write small pieces for this blog, so not to disappoint the folks who have so graciously opted to follow me. And I’ve written a few short stories and a short piece of creative non-fiction to satisfy the requirements of a grant. But as far as adding to my latest novel–Nada.
Yesterday, I got brave and I took another whack at the Stephania story, but just as I got going, I got a call from a friend to join her for lunch. Instead of saying, “Sorry, I’m working,” before I knew it, I was out of my PJ’s and on the road for a 30-mile ride to Milwaukee on a bright sunny day. I was happy and carefree for a couple of hours, and of course, when I got home, I didn’t resume my novel endeavors.
I’ve never felt this way about a book. This morning I may have gotten my answer to my dilemma over this problem. I read another blog about the 99.9% “Phoenix” failures–you know, those stories that drive us nuts but aren’t just “right.” I’m thinking that poor Stephania might be falling into that category.
However, I’ve never been one to cut my losses too soon, so I’ll let Stephania stick around for a while to see if she’s worthy of publishing. You see, she woke me up this morning with a new idea for what she might do next. She’s a scoundrel, though, so I hope her ploy is more than an attempt to keep her out of the Phoenix file.