So much has happened in just a week since my last life post.
First, the new bedroom set we had ordered was delivered. I’m in love. Seriously, I never find myself wanting to get out of bed or leave my new room. It’s gorgeous. But, as is life, I have to. But I love ending my day laying in that new bed with a great book.
Second, while last week we said good-bye to the kids for the month and I was sad, thinking I’d be alone in this house for a month, we found ourselves with additional house guests.
A couple friends of ours will be staying with us for the rest of the month. Which means this house won’t be so quiet and I won’t lose my mind, having people to talk to. Which, to me, is a good thing.
And Third, but certainly not least, I have an idea for another story. A Fantasy. One that has grabbed hold of me and is refusing to let go.
A few weeks back I lost everything I had been working on. I wrote a post about it. You can read it here. I was beyond consolable. But, I had determined to write both WIPs all over again. Telling myself what came out would be better than what had been there before.
Well, that may have been true, but I wasn’t in love with it. The story wasn’t ringing true, and I found myself more and more hitting walls and snags in the story. Perhaps it had been a sign. That I wasn’t meant to finish them right now. They weren’t the right one’s to be working on right then.
Then, along came this new story idea. One where the Protagonist wandered into my head and started screaming, demanding to be heard. I saw the whole thing like a movie in my head as the story unfolded.
I felt butterflies and excitement fly through my stomach, my heart soared, and I grabbed my notebook and pencil. Writing as fast as my fingers would let me. Trying to get it all down. Everything she said.
I have never been as excited about a story as I am about this one. I have never seen a story as clearly as I see this one. I have never written an outline and background for a story as fast as I wrote this one.
To me, that is a sign.
So, for now, I am moving on to this story. There is this feeling, this urge, this desperate need to tell this story. I still have the other two, and I can return to them. Maybe with fresher eyes when the pain of what happened has lessened.
How about you? Have you ever had a story grab hold of you and refuse to let go until it’s told?