Tuesday, November 21, 2006

My head's in 1941, but my ass is in '06.

It's happening. The novel is pouring out. Every unclaimed thought, conscious or unconscious, seems to circle back to 1941 and this story about a murdered singer.

And yet, on the way to work this morning, I started thinking about the next book. Here I am, so deep into this pre-war world that I'm reading novels published in 1941, and the beginning of a new book jumps into my head.

When does this happen to you? When, in the process, do you start thinking about what's next?

As an aside, how big of a turd pariah do you have to be to be shunned by Rupert Murdoch? OJ Simpson is apparently so loathsome that Rupert has loosened his grasp on sacks of cash in order to distance himself from The Juice. I never thought I'd live to see the day.

1 comment:

Sandra Ruttan said...

I think it's cool when the ideas start to flow. The when for me, of what's next, depends on what's next. I could do a plot sentence for the next five books I want to write, snap of a finger. But when I write the third book in the Cdn series, another could be born, because what I write about and what happens might trigger automatically what will happen to those characters next. That's what happened when I wrote book 2. I've known for over a year what Jack etc. would be dealing with in book 3. Don't know how it pans out, but my problem is never a lack of ideas. Always too many and not enough time to write.