Fuckity fuckity fuck.
I’m all jammed up, halfway between an idea and a story. I’ve got several of the elements in place: mysterious back story, dark, claustrophobic setting, twisted cast of characters all lusting after one another. I have an inkling. Now if I could only find a plot.
This is the agony of the first draft. I am not a natural storyteller. I don’t have a hundred fully hatched stories in my head, just waiting for me to find the time to attend to them. I have to invest a serious amount of energy and research into finding even one workable plot that’s right for my genre, for my readership (if there is one; we can but hope), and for me as a writer. While other writers are turning out story after story from their colorful and blissfully overactive imaginations (I’m looking at you, August), I am grinding my molars to come up with one.
And I desperately want to write. I’ve got time now and energy and the willpower to slam down a draft, and I can’t come up with anything resembling a psycho thriller plot for the present-day timeline. I’ve been at this problem for a month and still . . . nothing. But the back story and characters are too juicy to abandon. There is something here.
* * *
Last night I wrote the lines above and set them aside to finish the post for this morning. And when I woke up, holy mother of god, the light shone down upon me and delivered my story. I almost fell down the stairs trying to get to my notebook so I could write it down. My hands are shaking. It’s possible I will pee my pants.
Now I’m turning the idea this way and that, looking for cracks in the premise. Please dear lord may this work.
What do you do with a hot idea? Outline it? Flesh it out? Or write like hell?