So it’s been 2 months since my frantic encounter with NaNoWriMo and Marco’s story remained in my head and my heart ever since. His editing was shelved for some time in order to grasp again the reality of my writer’s life with all the other things I must do and catch up on. Christmas went by in its usual haste, desperately dragging upon every moment up until the day… then it’s already a month to the day over and done with. Somewhere in there we raised a glass or two (or three) to the New Year, heralding hope and prosperity with renewed vigor and resolution. I have not ventured far nor walked many a mile in my writer’s shoes for lack of support due to a pulled knee and a snowy disposition, weather-wise. I have, however, blogged to the moon and back in all its shining glory while not even leaving the comfort of this very chair. I managed to cover topic and story of chance and choosing – posting opinion and articles professing encouragement and love and passion as I promised to do.
Today I worked further on the editing of said novel and will again breathe life into Marco as we prepare to workshop our novel ideas. Some of us have gathered in the past to visit this topic and we again take up the meeting to help out those who have a project underway. This will allow us time to work with fellow novelists who will co-conspire plot and character. I am looking forward to the review and critique of my work so I might know if it has a chance of some kind in the big world of readers. I do hope to find out the truth – does it hold promise or is it just hollow words?
It is not a story like my Elizabethan Affair for it does not hold the rapture of romance in the 16th century nor does it have the naive heroine or the poetic hero in Shakespeare. It does though, speak of the Italian passion for love and family. Both are mixed with a bit a humor and suspense to shake up and punctuate the warm fuzzies of emotional overtures.
No matter its strength, it is a story grown within me and held until mature enough to leave. It is now on paper and just needs a little help to dress up and go out to meet the world. The rewrites are now left to the processing of the analytical left brain – the nurturing right brain struggles, left to just watch as the baby now turns into a grown man-uscript.
...I must read aloud, the cat’s breath is heavy in the quiet of my room. He’s making a little wheezing sounds that are rather odd but soon I drown them out with my own voice and when the furnace kicks in there is more background noise to accompany the clicking of the keys on the keyboard… The night draws near to the time of sleep but the stories will still dance and those are called dreams.