After three months of absolute silence, my NaNo novel
came up to me last night to remind me she's still out there waiting for me. We talked for a long time. My feelings for her have only deepened.
I think it was Mary Stewart that did it. There's an Arthurian thread in my work that I hadn't realized I'd put in, and suddenly I know what--or rather who--the third book is about. I understand the dynamics of the family at the core of the story now, and it's so obvious I can't see how I missed it before. It's gone from the story of two sisters with a side of grandfather to the story of three sisters, a brother, both parents, a grandfather, two lovers, and a child. The second book is going to be basically all female characters. The third book is already making my heart break and I haven't even written a word.
God, but I want to write this story. I don't think I've ever had quite this relationship to the work before, this conviction. I don't have any idea if I can do it justice, but I owe it at least the attempt. I may defer for a while, but I'm not going to let this one get away.
Not that I think she'd let me.