A Mystical

Writing Experience

As a young aspiring author I began with a modest goal: to write the Great American Novel. Hah! It was titled Soul Tempest. It was about . . .well, I really don’t know what it was about. Societal Angst, I guess. But what did I know about angst? I’d led a happy and sheltered life and the closest thing to angst was the lack of attention given to me by that cute girl with sparkling blue eyes.

But I wrote.

And wrote.

And wrote.

300 words was a good day. Problem was that the next morning I’d review the previous day’s writing and delete half those words. I’m guessing that over the course of that futile writing project I cranked out 300,000 words.

The reason I kept deleting half the previous day’s writing was that quirky characters kept invading my masterpiece, and there’s no place for quirk in a serious novel about societal angst. Or whatever the hell it was about.

So one morning, with no forethought, I decided to write something else. Anything else. I had no plan for what that writing might be. Just a few paragraphs? Maybe the beginning of a short story? Just something, anything, to purge my compulsion to create quirky characters.

And two hours later, after starting with a blank screen and a blank mind . . . I knew everything I was going to create. I knew the story, I knew the characters, and I knew it would be a book. I would unleash my quirky characters and let them be fantastically quirky.

I cranked out 3000 words a day. And it was easy. And it was fun!

But then real life intruded and I am utterly incapable of multi-tasking. So I slid my weird story into the proverbial drawer and wrestled with reality, with every intention of returning to my writing and finishing it.

Six months later . . .

I returned to the odd world I’d created. I figured it would take a few days to get back in the groove, but in just one hour of skimming I was totally immersed in it. And I finished it!

And the result? The Misadventures of Ace Detective Mars Candiotti.