On the right page again

I had thought I would work on my contemporary fiction story. It's kind of a mainstream/momlit type thing. It seemed the simplest because it requires very little research and mostly just imagination and writing. Most of it is plotted; some of it is written, but I haven't touched it in months.

Suddenly and without warning, I started yearning for the very first novel I started and never finished. I wrote over 50,000 words -- some of them good ones. And then I lost direction. There seemed no way forward and no clear path. Several times I've picked up that half-finished manuscript and read it through -- most of it without cringing. There is some good clever writing, and there are some well crafted scenes, charming characters, witty dialogue . . . and yet I could never get back to it -- partly because of my heroine and partly because of my hero.

My heroine was a bit of a MarySue. Not exacty like me, but much like I would like to be -- a bit too perfect for this world. My hero was much better, more likeable and more real. For some reason I find it easier to write men than women and it showed. But my hero had a problem too. I'd cast him in a a role that limited both him and me and ended up stifling the potential for dramatic development in the story. That's why I'd stopped writing with a thud.

When it came to mind inexplicably this past week, I stopped thinking about how I'd actually written the story, and started to think how it could be. Rather than picking up the pages I'd reread a million times while struggling to move forward, instead I tired to work on the weaknesses of the characters and plot without looking at it again.

I've yet to write a single word, but it's starting to gel in my brain. I don't know how other people write, but I tend to play the scenes out in my head while I'm working, as I'm driving, at the grocery store . . . later when it seems my brain is so full that everything will come spilling out if I don't capture it, then I write.

I'm almost there.

It might have been watching Foyle's War that renewed my excitement with this story. It's set during WWII and part of my apathy is the research it will require. I've keenness for the period anyway, and have read extensively about it, but while I couldn't think of a way to move my story along, the research felt like more like a chore than an interest.

Suddenly my heroine isn't who I thought she was and my hero has taken on a more useable role. Now that these snags are out of the way I feel ready to haul out the old stuff and edit it so it will fit in with my new vision. The editing should be finished by the end of the month and I should be able to get some plotting done as well. That would put me in a good position for starting Nanowrimo in November.

For the first time in a long time I'm excited about writing again.