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Once I hit publish on this, there is no going back.  It will be out there and everyone will see it.  I will have to answer all the questions and face the consequences of my actions (or lack thereof, as the case may be).  Deep breaths.  In.  Out.  Okay.

I am writing a novel.  In.Out.In.Out.  Okay.  It’s a historical novel in the vein of Phillipa Gregory (I hope!).  It will follow the life of Marie of Champagne, the eldest daughter of Eleanor of Aquitaine.  I’ve been researching it off and for almost a year, very seriously for the last month.  Like full time.  When I’m not driving kids to school, making their breakfasts, lunches, dinners or snacks, or cleaning up after them, I’m at my computer or reading a book about people who lived 900 years ago.  It’s fascinating. Well, it is to me anyway.  I learn something new about my characters everyday.  It really is like discovering a secret or solving a mystery that no one else even knew about.  Of course, someone knew about it because I read about it in a book they wrote. But it’s like I’m assembling a puzzle from pieces that have been scattered far and wide. Anyway, I’m pretty excited about it.

But, I’m also pretty freaked out by it too.  I know an author (Hi Susan, I mean, Sydney!).  She is a creative person in a variety of mediums.    She writes, she paints, she designs clothes!  I’m not really all that creative.  I think a better way to put it is that I am creative in that I can create, but I am not inventive in that I cannot devise what I create.  I have to follow a recipe.  I’m not sure I can think up a story that fills in the parts that history has already laid out for me.  That’s why I decided on historical fiction to begin with.  Rather than make up an entire person, series of events and all that, this story was already there.  I just need to beef it up a bit with scandal, emotion and maybe some naked parts.

My brother wanted to be a writer, but you know, life and stuff.  Maybe he still does want to write.  I never did.  Writing a novel was not part of my plan ever, until this last year.  I have no experience writing.  {Except this.  Does this count?  Maybe, in terms of getting what’s in my head out in a somewhat coherent fashion.  This is coherent, right?  It’s hard to tell sometimes.}  My brother was an English major.  He took classes on how to write a novel.  I wonder if he still has the textbooks?  I doubt it.

So, I have no talent and no experience.  This book is going to be amazing!

I am afraid that once people know I’m doing this, then I really have to do it.  I can’t quit.  I can’t make up excuses about why it isn’t done. Everyone will see through that.  This will just be something I wanted to do, a dream I had, that I gave up on.  I suppose that’s why I’m putting this out there now.  I work better under crushing expectations.  I take on obligations to force myself to be more organized so that I don’t let anyone down.  Realistic and healthy, yes?  No?  Regardless, it’s what I do.  

Okay, I’m really doing this.  I am writing a novel.  I am finishing up my research pretty soon (if anyone wants to pay for a research trip to France, that would be pretty helpful) and then I will start writing an outline, carding and then putting it all together.  Should I make it even more forceful and put a deadline on it?  Okay, I will have this book done by January 2015.  Or 2016.  Wait, when does Katie graduate from college?  At any rate, it will be done eventually and if you want to read a scandalous, drama-filled account of 12th century nobles with a few naked parts, let me know!