Be that as it may, the important thing is that I’ve put together a proposal for a brand new genre for me. Suspense fans, I’m afraid I have to disappoint you. It’s going to be a bit before I can get my suspense in and see if it can be published. Which means that I’m focusing for a bit on romance. To that end, I did what I’ve been dying to do for years. I’ve begun a historical romantic adventure trilogy. The long and short of it is that I’m having a blast.
But the point today is that the proposal is put together. It has been sent in to my agent. And this is the most perfect point in a book’s life. It reminds me of a garden in spring, when the detritus of winter has been removed, and the beds are pristine, the new mulch laid, and tiny green shoots forcing their way through the soil to prove that creation does repeat itself. At that moment, all is possibility. There have been no weeds or grubs or beetles to destroy the beauty you can still only imagine in those green shoots. Everything is tidy. The plants thrive. The flowers you wait for are still in the anticipation stage, and are still as bold and sweet-smelling and hardy as promised by the garden who supplied them to you. All is wonderful.
That is where I am(was three weeks ago. Bear with me here) right now with my next project. The idea that has been tugging at me for a good five years has found a voice. A face. A focus. I’ve defined my characters to the point of giving them family trees. I’ve scoured the internet and the British Heritage sites to come up with the perfect places for all my characters to live(I am not ready to launch a character until I know where he or she lives. It’s stage setting for me, like Annie’s house in Bull Durham. The minute you see that, she doesn’t have to say a word to tell you who she is). I’ve put together a package of three books that involve sex, violence, pathos, suspense(okay, I couldn’t get away from it completely), and humor. Not necessarily in that order. I madly love all my characters, eve the bad guys. I can’t wait to see what happens. I can’t wait to get to the desk to write(rare enough in an of itself) I’ve spent literal weeks trying to organize it into a comprehensive outline that will attract only the most enthusiastic editor.
And, like green shoots in the soil, it is still all possible. It has not been touched by editor or agent who think that if I’d just change a few things it would sell better. It hasn’t been criticized or cast aside. It hasn’t had a marketing department question its viability (are you sure the heroine has to be a duchess? Duchesses just aren’t selling this week. Could we make her a prairie teacher instead?) It is still perfect in my mind, its future limitless, it’s form perfect. It is a garden in spring. It is a young girl who sees her whole life spreading limitlessly before her. It is possibility.
Next comes the visit to the agent, who has the first chance to put a pin in my pretty balloon(okay, I’m mixing metaphors here). Meanwhile, I have to get back to see what happens to my heroine, who has just found her husband on the field of Waterloo in an enemy uniform.
eileenkathleen, the evil twins