In the past, I've plotted and plotted and plotted and dossiered and dossiered and dossiered and then started writing and almost immediately given up.
Yesterday, I just started writing. I've had the idea for a while, a few months. I've sketched a very brief outline of some possible characters. But I did that weeks ago. I didn't even open up the character file yesterday. I just started writing.
I listened once to mystery writer Carolyn Hart talk about how she writes intuitively. She'll know the basics of a story (who the protagonist is, who the antagonist is, who done it) before she starts writing, but that's it. I remember that blowing my mind. I was taught to plot! I was taught to know everything! And here was this incredible writer who chugs out a book every four to six months, and how does she do it? She just writes.
I decided maybe that would be best for me yesterday. I was reading John Miller's The First Assassin and thought, like I often do, I can do that. Why don't I write something? Except I actually had this idea in the back of my mind and did it.
The verdict? I'm only five single-spaced pages in, but I think it's viable. And the weird thing is, it's coming fast. At least so far. I usually sit and labor over page, worrying about everything before moving on. This time, I'm just moving. And having the experience I do editing, the prose actually isn't so terrible on first run. It's not great, not perfect, but it's working. My husband even liked it, and he is Mr. Critical.
So, there you go. The way to cheer up my jobless blues is to write something. If I keep at it, I might let you know what it is I'm working up.