So, one novel is done. But the next novel has been a jewel in my mind, nipping at my attention–demanding my attention–more and more. And so, it has begun.
The new novel’s plot is mostly done, outlined and laid bare during one of my interludes between drafts of the previous novel. Now I’m re-familiarizing myself with these characters, this place, these scenes and the story they all tell–and I’m slipping under the spell. I want to write this, need to write this.
Still, I can’t simply ignore the previous novel. I’m still chipping away at a query letter that resonates, no–sings–with the story of the book. In under 500 words. And next week is ICFA, the first conference I’ll go to in person in 2.5 years! So I’ll need to have my elevator pitch ready for BOTH novels, just in case I see an agent or editor who asks (yes, the dream! and the terror of blowing it!).
Which means I’m stuck with this odd dissonance of trying to be in two places at once (the novels’ settings are entirely different). Of trying to split my attention between two books I love–one I’ve written, one begging to reach that same place. It’s like being the human with the lap that your two cats are battling to “own:” you love them both and are thrilled they both love you, even though you wish they’d just get along.
Honestly, I also realize it’s a good place to be in. One novel is done, another is beckoning me. My muse is feeding me well, enticing me ever forward, and I have the ability to follow, and write. What more can I ask? Nothing, really.
But I’ve got to go. The muse is calling, and my attention drifts ever back to writing…