In my previous blogpost, I answered the question about where I find my ideas. Basically, I don’t find ideas as much as they find me. They are everywhere.
Having finished another revision on my newest novel, NOT ON FIFTH STREET (due out next year), I am ready and eager to dive in to a new book. In fact I have written beginning chapters of THREE different books already.
One of them is a revision of an old story I wrote many years ago. Another is a prequel to an old story. And the third is brand new. I have rough story lines mapped out for each of them, and now I have to decide which to focus on.
Some writers might envy the choice of three different ideas, but it is not that enviable a situation. Since all the ideas are for historical fiction, I need to do a lot of research for the one I take on, and that involves a lot of time and commitment. I want to devote myself entirely to whichever project I decide to handle next. I need to be sure it is the right one.
As I wrote those early chapters of each, I waited and hoped for one of them to grab me by the heart and make the decision for me. It didn’t happen.
Last week, I received a letter from a fifteen-year-old fan of one of my books. That fan is one of a number who has asked for a sequel to that book. I tell them all, it’s up for you to decide where the story goes and no sequel is planned. I read the letter to my daughter, who echoed the wish for a sequel. I explained to her why I didn’t feel a sequel is possible, but she suggested a way I might be able to do it. And I thought about it.
I spent several hours trying to sleep, as a storyline developed in my head. And while I wish I could report today that the sequel will be my next project, that is not the case. Now I have FOUR projects tugging at me. And I am trying harder than ever to find the right direction.