I want to write a story that will seize and hold my reader’s rapt attention. I want them to remember and love the characters long after they’ve read about them. I want my reader to be able to clearly visualize each scene playing out in their head as if they were watching a movie. I want my readers to feel ubiquitous butterflies in their stomachs as they read and re-read the love scenes, causing deep tell-tale folds to appear in the bindings. My story will be neither sickeningly sweet, nor unbelievably spicy. It will not be historical, with awkward sentence phrasings; neither will it be contemporary, only to become out dated a few years after it’s published. The story I want to write will be timeless and beloved by millions.
And, it is also a dream.
But, we are discussing here the kind of story I want to write, not the kind of story that I am writing, which may or may not end up falling into any of the above mentioned parameters. I realize with trepidation that undertaking the task of penning one’s first novel is a daunting process, comparable to stripping naked and standing on stage in the middle of a theatre of your peers. Often, its enough to make one want to give up, put their clothes back on and go back to sitting comfortably in the audience, casually flinging either tomatoes or roses at the next poor naked soul to appear on stage (as if your opinion were gold). But, one must not give up, and neither can I!
The novel that I am currently whipping up is one cup political intrigue, two cups monsters, one half cup conspiracy theory and a whole bag of romance. I am carefully mixing all of these ingredients, and will bake them as long as necessary with a bit of dry humor and a few mixed nuts. With a little luck I should end up with something worthy of a bake sale, at least.