It was a beautiful Spring weekend here in Texas, but it didn’t start out that way.It was Friday and I sat at my desk, looking out the window as the raging wind tugged and pulled at our crepe myrtle trees. The sky was overcast and I began to wonder whether this camping trip was going to work out…
I’ve encountered a lot of writing advice over the years and I’m always surprised how many people believe their way is the only way. I’m equally amazed by how often these people conflict one another. I don’t know if I’m getting Social Media fatigue or what, but I’ve finally reached a place where I need to shut it down. All of it. No more writing advice. Only writing.
As the weeks have gone by, I’ve delved deeper into my rewrites for Final Hope. And I was making good progress, too. That is, until I crossed paths with the dreaded Chapter Eight.
It didn’t start out bad. In fact, Chapter Eight was looking good at first. I was halfway through the chapter and I was rocking the word count at an alarming rate. Then, just as I was beginning to think I had the whole thing in the bag, things got weird.
When I had the first idea for Chlorophyllium 9 as a short story in 2008, it was a flash of inspiration, but just a tiny snippet of the story as a whole. Like a glimpse at a scene, I knew there were several more layers to uncover before the rest of the idea revealed itself. But that one image has remained the heart of the story, even as it’s grown to almost novel length.