Tuesday, 5 November 2013

I am faced with a really interesting book. This is the first time a book is faster than my speed of thought. I mean, seriously, this one SO wants to be written, every time I sit down to start the skeleton draft, whole passages, fully formed ideas come pouring out from under my fingertips - at times literally faster than I can write them down. Dunno if this happens to writers normally, but I have to put a lid on the concept to stop it from overflowing, so as I don't lose the material. 
The book is supposed to be my first (and perhaps only?) high novel. It's planned to be one third of my usual novels, so about 200 pages, plot taking about two weeks between three people. A sort of love triangle, if you will. In the center of the story are two very old sisters who a while back decided to write a book. It isn't a very good book, but they enjoy writing it and it serves as a communication device between the two. Plot thickens when one of the sisters begins to unwittingly form a friendship with a neighborly widower, having life unsuspectingly sneak up on her at the age of 75. 
Technically, nothing is supposed to happen in this book. There can't be any actual dialogues and there certainly cannot be any action. It needs to be calm and fleeting, reflecting and comfortably realistic, like a conversation between two old ladies you kind of, sort of hear on the bus as they are sitting behind you. There is absolutely nothing autobiographical about this and none of the characters are even remotely related to any of my own experience. The whole lot has to be created absolutely anew. And this is the freaky bit. I haven't even decided writing it and already it feels fully fledged. Like it already exists. Like it’s always existed. I don't even know why the heck this particular topic continues to bloom in me. I have a zero emotional connection to this. Such a profusely novel experience. 
This book is freaking me out. It feels like I have been chosen to write it, at random. I have no idea if it will be any good, but I really want it to be. I just need to warn my readers that this isn't another Zurnizip fable, like some might expect. (Nasty Little Light will probably be another Zurnizip fable.) People might dive in, expecting sexting Ogres and an occasional starship crash on a newfound planet.. That would be – without a fair warning  - an awfully cruel awakening.