I have had basically three books in me that I’ve wanted to write:
- 1. One of them involves the Founding Fathers.
- 2. One of them involves blues legend Robert Johnson.
3. One of them involves a ragamuffin band of childhood friends that wreak all kind of unintentional havoc on their town with their overactive imaginations.
4. And oh yeah, there’s a fourth one in which a billionaire buys a Costa Rican island, extracts fossilized dinosaur DNA from congealed amber, and uses frogs to plug in the genetic gaps before cloning them, although I feel like this has been done.
Book idea number one has resulted only in a prologue, even after months and months of rumination, reworking, woodshedding, contemplative Mount Sanais, and such. And there it is–five years later. Nothing accomplished.
Idea #3 has been the one that has been the most fun to contemplate, and also to do without the perceived need for micrometers, T-squares, block-and tackle, or a laser-guided plumb-bob to get off the ground.
Today, my brain painted a complete picture, which will be accompanied by action, along with some advice I recently read by Stephen King that said to just write your book and don’t think about anything other than the story (something like that).
To that end, I can foresee the rough draft being done in a few weeks or months. I’ll shut my mouth about it for now.