It isn't quite green broke yet: my brand-new piece of fiction. More just started under...saddle...or something. It's a project suggested by a writer I met at a workshop a year ago, a woman who is one of three writers teaching another workshop this October. Last spring I made up my mind. Signed on. And a month ago, halter and rope in hand, I trudged out to the field to catch the idea so we could begin.
Man, this is a sharp-looking idea for a young adult novel! Sound and strong, with a bold edginess. It has all the elements I could want, if I can just do it justice.
It's hard to start a story or a colt, to work day after day, then try to observe what's really there, not just what you assume or hope. Pretending doesn't help. Both equine and literary rejection feels like a sudden jolt of reality, even when actual gravity isn't involved. (And I am grateful that physical injury is unlikely, in this case.)
I try to keep my story's feet moving and work to gauge its next move. I don't want it to get bored, or rather boring. Progress is important. I need to know where I am.
Yesterday I swung open the gate for a brief ride onto the Internet. Heart in my throat, I rode into cyber -space to show Someone Else the first page of my new project. She liked it. I was pretty sure she would (I know enough to hedge my bets at this tentative stage) but it still feels great to be validated.
So today I headed back to the safe confines of my Word program, the corral where my story and I work together and prepare for our future adventures overcoming literary obstacles. This story feels like it might jump pretty high. And in the meantime, it's got a wonderful stride.