On Committing Fiction

I’ve committed fiction.

Okay, it’s just a start. It’s hardly complete, and there’s a long way — maybe seventy, eighty thousand words — left to go.

Around Easter, an idea struck me. I saw the beginning. I saw the ending. It was the part in the middle that was fuzzy.

The part in the middle isn’t fuzzy anymore.

I was on my lunchbreak, walking the neighborhood around the corporate offices, and I realized what the story was. And how to tell the story.

I jotted down a few ideas on a notepad back at the office, the same notepad where such brilliant ideas as “Tokyopop needs projectile vomit” found their existence. (I still don’t know what I meant by that, for the record.)

On the subway ride home, I pulled out my clipboard of notebook paper, took out a gel pen, and started writing. Five hundred words.

And they’re not horrible! 🙂

I don’t know my character’s name yet, but he’s telling me that it starts with a “B.” I think. Possibly “J.”

I’m going to type up the scribblings later this evening, and then start locking down an outline. Considering some of the twists and tangles this story will take, yeah, I’m going to need an outline.

It’s also mainstream.

It’s going to be… interesting. 😀

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