So I was wrong.

Shocking, I know, that I prove to be as fallible as the next person.  Despite all my attempts at perfection, I’m not perfect.  I sat in shame in the corner for a few minutes, then got up, made a pie, and ate all of that.  To be honest, I’m more ashamed of the pie than of the mistake.

I’m a monster, I know.

What was I wrong about, you ask?  Writing, or to be more specific, what to write next.  If you remember my last post, published last week, I said that I was probably going to end up writing another Stephanie Hawthorne novel.  And with The Red Dress coming out this month, the desire to put more words to paper about the adventures of Daniel and Stephanie seemed like a safe bet.

Only—come to fine out—it wasn’t.

To be honest with you, I don’t know how much of this I should be talking about.  The ideas are still fresh and oh so fragile.  And I’m sure that every one of us knows that an idea is like a scrap of flame when you’re trying to start a bonfire.  A little bit of wind is a good thing as it encourages the flame to grow and spread, but too much and the wind snuffs it.  I find myself a little protective about it, afraid that the more I talk about the idea, the more it will suffer.  Only I’ve reached a point where I feel that I can mention it without doing too much harm.

Usually that point lies after I’ve written for about 10,000 words or a week straight without hating what’s made it to the page.  I reached one, if not both, of those points this weekend.  And—since I’m a firm believer in editing—add to the fact that I’m actually pretty proud of what I’ve put to page so far without editing, I think that I might be able to do this.

With care, of course.

Since I started writing at the age of young, I wanted to write something with meat to it.  Something with literary heft to it, you might say.  And once I understood the concept of the Great American Novel, my goal shifted to join the lofty names of Hawthorne, Faulkner, and Hemingway.  Only, I always imagined myself writing Science Fiction or Fantasy, so it might be better to say the likes of Asimov, Heinlein, and Tolkien.

Now, I’m not so vain as to think that I could do this, especially straight out of the gate.  And the older that I got, the more that I realized what kind of a pipe dream it really was.  And I’m ok with that.  Really, I am.

I guess there’s nothing else to say to that.

But I still wanted to write that novel of literary heft.  That seemed much more doable.  Give me a few more decades under my belt with the matching experiences—along with a few more novels—and I might give it a try.  Maybe then might I have something worth saying.  Until then, I’ll keep writing things I find entertaining and honing my craft.

Only, maybe I’m ready now.  I had a conversation the other day that made me consider it; made me think about writing something different than anything I’ve approached before.  Because I do have something to say.  What it is ain’t exactly clear.  Yet.  But it will be.  And unlike my other works, there’s a pull to this thing, as if it has a life of its own.  Somehow, still within the first chapter, I feel an emotional tie that—

Well, let’s say that its both invigorating and satisfying.

And after all this, I still haven’t told you what the novel is about.  The plot is a mystery to everyone but myself.  Even K doesn’t know about it.  I prefer it to stay that way for now.  But, in my own way, I have told you what it’s about.  Emotions.  Heft.  Think about it while I consider that I might just have something to say after all.


On a whole different note: Tomorrow is the day!  Tomorrow, everyone can purchase The Red Dress from Amazon and Barnes & Noble.  Go crazy with it!  Tell your friends!  Tell your parents!  Tell your brothers and sisters, your aunts and uncles!  Tell everyone you know! It’s a fantastic read and a perfect Christmas gift for the readers in your lives.

What is it about?  Glad you asked.  Here’s the description:

Not everyone can run a private detective agency with their spouse, but Daniel Atwell loves working for his wife Stephanie Hawthorne. Sure, they make a great team, but he’d go crazy if he didn’t push her buttons occasionally.

Perhaps that’s why he agrees to meet with Andrea Swope, a selfish old girlfriend who wants help in curbing her husband’s infidelity. After rejecting her business, the pair think they are done with Andrea until they learn about her murder that same day in a botched robbery, kicking off a city wide manhunt.

Months later, the police are stumped and the grieving widower turns to Stephanie for answers. In short order, Daniel learns enough about his old flame that he wants to lead the lynch mob himself.

Yet, not everything is as it seems. Daniel soon has his hands full with a shady animal shelter and an uncooperative local political campaign. Now if he could only figure out what it all has to do with a certain missing red dress.

Join me tomorrow in celebrating the publication of my first novel.  I look forward to seeing each and every one of you!

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5 thoughts on “Being Wrong Can Be Right

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