to start a new novel.
You’d think that starting novel number six wouldn’t be a big deal. It’s always a big deal, and frankly, I find myself more than a little nervous as I type the title on the page, make sure it’s centered and STARE at the screen for an indeterminable amount of time. The first words are always the most difficult for me, compounded by the fact that those words commit me to a minimum of three straight months of writing.
I wrote the first 420 words to The Perseid Collapse this morning, sitting at a desk in a hotel room. Not exactly where I would choose to start such an important undertaking, but my day job requires these things, and I write everyday no matter where I find myself…even a lonely hotel room. No, it wasn’t someplace fancy or scenic. As a matter of fact, it was within sight of both a mall and the Maine Turnpike.
But it was in Bangor, less than eight minutes (as measured by my iPhone’s mapping software) from my favorite author’s house.
I’ve been to Bangor several times over the past few months for work, but I’ve purposely avoided West Broadway. I’ve driven by it and struggled not to turn. Why? Because I wanted the context of seeing Stephen King’s house to be special. Seeing it on the same morning that I typed the first words of my sequel to The Jakarta Pandemic qualified, so I made the turn off Union Street and parked in front of his house long enough to take a few pictures. It was all I needed to round off a perfect morning…almost perfect. I forgot to bring the power cord for my Mac Air on the trip, and found myself with 46% power upon waking at “zero dark thirty.” 420 words was all I could write before the computer basically told me to save my document and find something else to do.