Novel Seeking Ending

It's one of my days off.  I love these days.  I feel as if I have all the time in the world to spend on absolutely nothing.

If only that were true.  Hey, even future bestselling authors (I'm not conceited, I'm just hopeful) are told by their fathers that they have to clean their rooms.  Heck, especially future bestselling authors.  We're a disorganized bunch, aren't we?

Anyway.  As you can tell, I'm procrastinating from all the cleaning I ought to be doing.

Just got back from errands for Mom.  And potentially a secret mission for my dad and my sister Emily's birthday next week.  They actually have the same birthday.  There's a lot of that in my family.  I was almost born on my grandpa's birthday, and my cousin was almost born on my uncle's birthday.

Damn, I wish I had something more interesting to say.  This is all just talk.  No less, and certainly no more.

Lately I've been writing a novel.  Well, two.  Well, more like five or six, I just can't seem to stick to anything.

Mainly I'm working on the mystery novel I started when I was a sophomore/junior in high school.  One of those stories I began in the summer.  Anyway, I was looking at patching up the bits of it I've actually written (about 29,000 words altogether; I tend to write entire scenes at once, but not necessarily in order--I write whatever comes to me at the moment, so first maybe I write a climactic scene and then I go back and work on the status quo of the main character--I'm insanely out of order when I'm inspired).

And then, like a bolt out of the blue, the storyline of its sequel hit me.  Just, hit me.  It's all I could think about for a few hours, and I wrote bits and pieces of it, and now I'm inclined to believe this sequel is quite possibly going to be better, more interesting, and easier to write.  More will be at stake.  So actually it's brilliant.

One problem.  Because there has to be a problem, if the idea seems so wonderful.  A big problem, actually.

I have to finish writing the original story first.  That doesn't seem so bad, does it?  I mean, patch it up, write up the scenes that are missing, edit it and re-write the parts that need work, get an agent, have them find a publisher who'll take it, see if it's successful.  Then maybe a sequel.

Okay, no, that's not at all how I work!  I've already started the sequel, of course!  Because I can't help myself, and I can never leave well enough alone.  That's me.  I meddle even with my own stuff.

One might ask if I could make the sequel the first one, somehow, but so much of what happens in the first novel, which is not entirely exciting, is necessary to the understanding of the proposed sequel.

God, I'm confusing myself.

Anyway.  I'm one of those insomniatic writers.  I don't achieve full inspiration until about 12:30am.  And then it's time for bed.

Well, take care, you reader you.  May you not be plagued with these anxious thoughts and imaginations.*

Christine out.

* Sort of a quote -- but not really -- from St. Francis de Sales, the patron saint of writers.  Also, my Confirmation saint.  Even though he's a man and I'm not.