OK, so I’m knee-deep into a new project called “The Great North” (I know, I know, but this one had a deadline). It’s a post-apocalyptic retelling of a legend, and it’s unlike anything that I have done so far.
Or so I thought.
So I’m writing along, with my loose outline in a spreadsheet at my side to track all the stuff writers have to track when they write, and my latest crush – mint milanos – at my side. It’s new. it’s fresh. And best of all, it’s working.
And then I start to notice things.
My first protagonist is a young gay, brown-haired man in a medieval village, scared of his sexuality.
Just like in my earlier story, “The Autumn Lands”.
The other is a slightly older blond stranger who arrives in a caravan.
Just like in “The Autumn Lands”.
Oh, and he has a secret.
At this point, I’m officially starting to freak out. I’m a crap writer who doesn’t know what the hell he is doing. I’ve run out of new stories to tell. Oh crap, I’m a total fraud!
So I close my eyes, take ten deep breaths, and try to calm down. No body loves a crazy writer is a writer.
I can deal with this.
First of all, “The Great North” story is not a quest story. “The Autumn Lands” is most definitely a quest story.
The characters are fundamentally different, despite the superficial similarities.
And after the set-up, “The Great North” veers off in a whole different direction. Or at least it will now. *grin*
I start to breathe normally again. I can do this. I can write again. This story’s gonna be fricking awesome! F@ck yeah! And it’s gonna be nothing like “The Autumn Lands” when I’m done with it.
I make myself a mental note for the next story. No more damned caravans.
Do you ever find yourself writing the same story?