When I began thinking about the novel I am now writing last summer, I had a specific idea.
It was a nice, pretty story – well, the end was at least (with great turmoil leading up to this perfect ending). Somehow, things changed.
When I sit down to write now, I no longer see roses at the end. Things are messy, and ugly, and the story no longer bodes well on human behavior. Yet, somehow, I see everything laid out before me, and I am just following along. At the same time, it’s quite scary, because it’s taking me to new territory. Places I’ve not only never been to, but never wanted to go to. It’s amazing to see how the story has metamorphosed. If I tried, I would never be able to produce such things!