But fortunately, it doesn't usually leave a mark. Now that The Orb has been posted to Amazon, I'm free to resume the book that had possessed my thoughts even before I had even started writing it. I was about half way through Justice Resurgent, the sequel to Justice in Season, when I brushed up against an idea for a noir novel that stuck to me like a tar-baby. I wrote religiously (I think that means with consistent regularity...but it always makes me think of saying prayers and Gregorian chants--by use of the word, I mean the former, rather than the latter), and got about halfway through it. But I had to leave the noir novel temporarily to finish The Orb by the arbitrary deadline that I had given myself. The Orb was a work that I did by request. I felt obligated to complete it before the end of 2016.
Anyone can write half a book. I can write the first half of multiple books at the same time. For me, the finishing of the book requires some devotion, some dedication, some concentration, some faithfulness to the single story (to use some redundant repetition), in order to take the threads scattered during the first half of the work, and weave them into a meaningful resolution. I've been excited to resume the work on this noir novel. The trouble was...I had lots of scattered threads without knowing how they were going to join together to reach a point. Then...Eureka! Driving home yesterday from a special place, the threads came together. Last night I was able to map out the resolution. When I started the book, I had seen the end, but the view was obstructed; it was like that short girl across the room at the dance who seems like she might be quite pretty, but remains mostly a mystery until the nerds on their way to the punch bowl finish stumbling past.
With the end in focus, I had planned to work only for an hour on it last night. As the ideas solidified with clarity, one hour stretched into two. I hated to stop. Once I slip into that zone where the story pulls me in like a seagull through a jet engine, it's a sad thing to leave. (Please note that no seagulls were actually harmed in the creation of that poorly chosen simile). The intoxication of writing a compelling story exceeds even the pleasure derived from the attentions of a beautiful woman. No it doesn't; not even close. It does possess a certain potency, but let's not overstate it.
I may post some excerpts here.
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