I’m getting into the thick of my latest novel, Silenced. That means leads have begun to pile up, and my extremely sharp detective is beginning to connect the dots; much like the author himself, Vasily seems to get more and more engaged as the story progresses. When the story is truly flowing, I lose all track of time while I’m writing; it can get so intense that a gentle touch from my wife to pull me back into the real world sends me leaping from my chair with heart palpitations. Thankfully she’s the forgiving sort and takes it all in stride; I owe her more than I could ever pay for putting up with a writer who constantly mutters dialogue to himself while shaving, or blurts out seemingly random nonsense when the solution to a particularly thorny plot problem finally appears.
Silenced is about to crest the halfway point as I write this blog post; my novels generally top out between 90,000 and 100,000 words, so I usually begin to take stock of the story when I get close to the 45,000 word mark. This one continues to follow the (kind of, sort of) plan I had for it, though (as usual) a few interesting wrinkles have already popped up that weren’t originally in scope. I like where it’s going, and feel pretty good that it will land about where I want it to land. I did wake up this morning with the strangest thought that I had missed carrying over a thread from Masks, though; it took most of the day for me to realize what it was, and then another hour or so of noodling to decide how to sneak a fix into what I’ve written so far. I’ve not quite done that yet — that’s the plan for after this entry is done; well, part of the plan. First will be to pour myself a well deserved glass of wine for having gotten through the week; it’s a clear weekend, so I expect to make quite a dent in the back half of Silenced before the calendar fully embraces April.
April. How on earth did spring suddenly sneak up on me? About the only indicator that we got here was the significant jump in our daily high temperature from a comfortable mid-70s to near-90s. I fear that triple digits are not far behind, a fear shared by the winter visitors who have begun to flee Tucson for cooler climates. I don’t blame them; on the other hand, the desert in summer is actually quite beautiful, especially during those years when our monsoons really kick into high gear. I still remember my very first July, leaning against the bumper of my mother-in-law’s car and watching in awe as the lightning rained down across the Santa Ritas. We had plenty of thunderstorms back east, to be sure, but the miles of visibility we are blessed with here in Southern Arizona gives you a whole new appreciation for meteorology in general.
Okay, enough stalling – back to the book! But… not before I get that glass of wine…
Leave a Reply