With the complete of Free Agent’ galley proofing, I’ve had time to go back and do a sort of writer’s spring cleaning. By that I mean I sorted through all my archived writing. In there I found the first three books I ever tried to write.
I remember reading an author whose advice say “The first novel you love, you will be so entangled with, you will never get it right. Let it die and move on.” At the time those words offended me. Not my story. Not my characters. I’d fix them, I was sure.
I didn’t.
I won’t.
There comes a point in every story where you have to step back and let it go. Walk away, smile and say “This is done.” For better or worse, you’ve done what you can with it. Those first books are ones I can’t fix. I can’t even say I want to fix them.
I want to tell new stories. Better stories. Ones that make you laugh and cheer and maybe cry. Or, if you are of a persuasion that never cries, maybe it’s just dusty in the room. The old stories won’t do that. Maybe I can write new ones that will.
There’s one way to find out.
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