For those of you, although maybe I should drop the “those of,” since there is probably only one of you, interested in how things are going with “And It’s Only Love,” here’s a progress report.
225 pages I am willing to keep. I’m guessing that there is less than 100 pages lying in wait ahead, still blank and still hopeful.
I begin this work planning to tell a tragic love story (any other kind?) that was character-focused, and while that remains the heart, I have been surprised by a developing plot I had not imagined in the early pages. Some days I wonder if the plot hasn’t seized the story so intently that it may overwhelm the characters. That isn’t easy to control.
Every person who writes stories, especially stories long enough to become a novel, understands … wrong word, because we really don’t understand … realizes that this is probably going to happen: after a while characters come to life and virtually dictate to you, the writer, what they will and will not do, and the story takes hold and tells itself through your pen in its way, you be damned.
This is what I live for as a writer: the power of story-telling.
For any reader who did not see this photo in the now long ago disappeared blog, this is the girl this novel is about, and no, I have no idea who she is and never saw her before nor after the few moments in passing on a Buenos Aires sidewalk when I took this picture. She is the perfect stranger, going into the ancient future, acquiring a life she will never know.