Getting back on the bicycle

Over this summer, in between the unavoidable interruptions of Real Life, I had begun to wonder if I was really going to write this book or if I would simply spend the rest of my life taking notes about Renaissance Italy and the Turkey of Mehmed II. Then things began to fall into place. The sketchy outline turned into my usual pre-writing document, twenty-odd pages telling a story with bits of dialogue and action included. And then, a month ago, the words started coming into my head. I took a deep breath and started writing.

It is an incredible relief to find that the writing muscles are still there. They are, perhaps, not as strong as they used to be. 2000 words used to be a normal daily average; now it feels more like a tremendous achievement. I used to be able to push past time-sucking interruptions like doctors’ appointments; now those days mean something like 500 words at best. Still, a month after beginning the actual writing of Book of Secrets, I’m 35,000 words into the story, and probably about a third of the way through.

By the standards of writing-as-a-business, this book is probably a mistake. I may have a smallish audience for lightweight urban fantasy. Historical novels? Not so much. I don’t even have a beta reader, because the friend who usually looks over my first drafts won’t read anything in this genre. It’s been something like twenty years since I last wrote a long historical novel, and that one had all the impact of a rose petal falling into the Grand Canyon. I suppose I “ought” to be whipping out two or three more urban fantasies.

I’ve never been good at doing what “ought” to advance my career, and at almost 75, I really don’t see the point in giving up what I want to write in favor of what I think can sell. I’m staying on this bicycle. Next stop, Venice, and after that, Istanbul.