Yesterday I turned 62. Ended up taking the day off from writing, though that wasn’t intentional. Hubby and I had breakfast at a cute little place in Graeagle, then took a drive around Lakes Basin. Instead of fall leaves, we found naked trees (of the deciduous type), snow, and water. Lots of water. In the trees, on the road. Made for quite an adventure. Got home feeling more relaxed than I’ve felt in quite a while.
Whether in life or in writing, encountering the unexpected often yields rewards that are equally unexpected. I often have only an idea, a concept, sometimes simply a title when beginning a story. As the story progresses, it often feels like I’m slogging through snow or water or mud, getting nowhere. When I look back at what’s been written, I see that isn’t so. What felt like slogging was merely an adventure of the unexpected kind.
That type of “slogging/adventure” invariably leads to discoveries that, more than likely, wouldn’t have been made if I’d kept to a prescribed path, eyes straight ahead.
That’s what’s happened with my newest series — the first novel turned out to be the second novel. Definitely not expected, but the story arc, characters, and author are now happier with that discovery! Forward Ho!