Juggling, and not bowling pins or fiery sticks, is not for those who aren’t organized. So you can imagine how difficult juggling is for me as a writer. I am not that well organized (yes, I should be) and so feel that each novel I write is, in essence, a juggling act. I try to be organized, which is why I do outlines. However, unlike John Grisham (I just found out from another A to Z blog http://lauramarcella.blogspot.com) who always uses, and sticks to, an outline, I use it primarily to keep my juggling act from falling apart. I do stray from the original often, but the outline keeps me steady on where I eventually “want to” end up.
Think of this, I have a storyline. I have my protagonist, perhaps more than one. I have the environment, which is really another character amongst the multitude, and time and time line to keep in their places, moving where they should be, when they should be. This is my juggling act. If I get to the end, and my readers like the story and the ending, then I’ve succeeded. I always consider this a miracle, and not a minor one. Because juggling, like writing, takes A LOT of practice, a lot of thinking and following/trusting your imagination. It is not an easy job. If my novel is easy for you, as my reader, to read, then the juggling is worth it because in the end, that’s what a performer’s job is. It’s also what keeps us, as performers, coming back for more. Here is a “blurb” for my current work in progress, which can give an idea of this particular juggling act:
London. Three people; a killer, a writer, and a cop. Their destinies are about to collide and change them forever.
On a cold white before-Christmas day, an assassin completes a job only to be pursued by police. Dodging through bustling city streets, the assassin nabs a young woman out of a crowd for cover.
Celia Wight, a reclusive American writer, is shopping in her spare time during a book tour. When a knife presses against her back and a stranger takes charge of her carefully controlled life, horrific memories surface and force her to fight for her life, again.
Assigned to the homicide, Detective Alban Thain of the Metropolitan Police, suspects the murderer is in fact an assassin he calls the Wraith. The problem is Thain is the only one who believes the assassin exists. Disregarding his coworker’s ridicule, Thain means to exploit the Wraith’s first-and-only-mistake; the kidnapping of an innocent bystander- if she is innocent. Thain will do whatever it takes to prove the existence of the Wraith, and bring him to justice.
One might find redemption, one release, and one may find love is more important than being right.