One more time...

This week the idea for my next novel came to me. It's a big one. I'm having a hard time wrapping my head around it. But, it's mine. And I'm glad to have it. I was scared I maybe only had one in me. Now I know I have another one.

Writing is a funny thing. I do it commpulsively. I'm actually physically uncomfortable if I find myself with unstructured time and no pen in my hand. When I was first a single mom and worked for my dad as a receptionist, it drove him insane. I'd cover every available surface with ink without even noticing it. But I'm sitting here with this idea, and no idea where to start. No real proof that I'm capable of a book bigger (I'm not talking word count, either) than an almost catagory-romance. No real faith that if I devote another year or more of my life to writing another book, I'll actually find an agent this time. And truth be told, I'm a little afraid to start. When I choose a starting point, I'm leaving behind five or six. What if one of them is better? That's my first hurdle.

Today my critique partner read through the last major changes I'll make to novel number one. She agrees, I finally hit on the right starting point. It only took a year, and cutting--count them--five chapters, and then the first third of the chapter I finally hit on as the true start. But I have it now. So I'm thinking if I don't get a positive resonse from my last round of queries to agents, or from Ellora's Cave, I'm going to give it one last shot with my changes and a new query (to different agents.) I think I might toss it out to a few more contests.

I keep thinking one day I'll have an agent, I'll be published. My books will be in your local Barnes and Nobel or Borders. And then this part--the fear that I'm not good enough, that my one major life goal will never be realized--will be over.