I was getting anxious.
I needed something to work on. I currently have two books on submission and a 3rd being considered for submission. I've already written a sequel to one of the books on submission. I didn't want to start a new story (or another sequel) until I knew if submissions would payoff.
There was nothing left for me to work on...except one thing.
The first. The very first novel I ever wrote a dozen years ago. It has been sitting on the shelf almost this whole time. The embarrassment. Yeah, it was that bad. But I knew that its core was solid. The premise, plot, characters...all worthy. It was the narrative that sucked.
Another problem was that it was 135,000 words long (like I said, the narrative sucked). I didn't know back then that a mystery novel from a first-time novelist wouldn't sell at that length. But cutting 45,000 words—a third of the book—was insurmountable. So I put it away and moved on.
After being left with nothing else to work on, I accepted the challenge.
Although I have a bit more work to do, this morning I finished the first re-draft, coming in at 95,000 words. I like it now, a lot!
Wouldn't it be weird if the first novel I get published turns out to be my original....a dozen years after it was penned?
Crazier things have happened, right?
