Dreams in pipes.

I want to write a novel. Everybody says that, but I really, really do. Everybody says that, too. But still. ME! This is about me! Meeeeee.

I have so many ideas in my head, but no complete ideas. I could write a novel comprised solely of great first sentences that have floated through my mind. It’s what I do. I’ll randomly create a story in my head. That one sentence. The first sentence. Then BAM. I don’t know where to go from there. Ideas come to me while I’m running. It’s the only time my mind wanders. I mean, my mind wanders a lot, don’t get me wrong, but I get uninterrupted wandering while running. Even then, when my mind is free and clear, and I’ve got nothing better to do than make shit up, I can’t get past the opening line. Or a character. An image. 

I’ve got a friend who’s working on her second novel. SECOND. I love it, and am both amazed and mind-blown at the same time. HOW DOES SHE DO IT? I wonder if I have the creative capacity to create an entire novel. A plot. Characters. Sub-plots. Depth. Development. How do you make people care? How do you craft a story that’s worth it? How do you come up with something new?

My head hurts.

I’ve read so many fiction novels. There are so many out there. Thinking about it is overwhelming. How is it even possible to create something that hasn’t already been done? Or isn’t there? Do you just throw caution to the wind, write what’s in your mind, and pray like hell that it grows wings and flies?

I don’t dream of becoming a best-selling author. I don’t dream of making millions. I’d be happy with one copy of my book. My name on the front, my picture on the back. My words in the middle. Just tangible proof that I created something awesome. I think I’m more in love with the idea and the process than the result. The hours in front of the computer. The late nights. The revisions. The characters. Pages and pages and pages of story that will probably get deleted, replaced or reduced to two sentences. And really, that’s just the dream I created in my head. The reality of novel-writing is likely less glamorous. But like most of my pipe dreams, they’re made up of naivete. With a side of charm, of course.

But still. It’s a dream, and it’s mine.

I don’t know where to start. How to start. I’ve never actually put any of those first sentences down on paper. They’ve simply drifted out of my head as quickly as they entered. After a first sentence has to come a second, and I don’t have one.

Anyone in the market for a one-sentence novel?

I said it: August 19th, 2010 under krittabug.

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