I Don’t Want to Talk About It

There’s an inevitable question when another person finds out you are writing/have written a book.

“What’s your book about?”

Ugh.

I usually answer shortly, and probably more rudely and sternly than I intend, “I don’t talk about it.” And for the most part, I don’t.

Sometimes, if I’m feeling generous, the asker might get the vaguest of replies, but I won’t answer any follow up questions. Even the “Books” page of this website has a brief and hazy description of Whatever Will Be, and as you’ve probably surmised at this point, that is completely intentional.

Some writers will happily and enthusiastically tell anyone what they are working on. I am not one of these, but my writing buddy is. During one of the first conversations we had, he animatedly explained what he was working on, and told me about another idea that was still percolating. When he finished, he looked at me expectantly.

“I don’t talk about it,” I said.

“What?” he joked. “Afraid I’m going to steal your ideas?”

Heh. “Not at all,” I said, and I wasn’t. I’m still not. If you’re ever in the market for a writing buddy, may I suggest choosing (or–hell–coincidentally finding somebody) who doesn’t write in the same genre? Then it really is more about camaraderie than competition.

No, I’m not afraid someone is going to take my idea and run away with it–though that is also a very real fear some writers have. The way I see it, there isn’t much in the way of truly original and remarkable ideas floating around, waiting for a writer to put them into words. Most writing is just another retelling of an old story, told from a different perspective or about different characters. Or maybe that’s just my writing.

My real fear–more of a superstition, actually–is much simpler, and at the same time, more complicated than that. In my last post (about writer’s block, y’all), I alluded to the idea that I see my characters in my head as fully formed people who are telling me their story, and trusting me to write it for them. The superstition is that perhaps if I start talking about a story before a character is finished telling it to me, they will stop telling me the story. And if one does it, they’ll all do it, and it will permanently damage–and maybe even break–the fragile idea machine that exists somewhere in my brain.

“Well, that doesn’t make any sense,” you might be saying to yourself. And it might not make any sense to you. But it makes perfect sense to me, and that’s all that matters.

So I won’t be talking to any of you about what I’m working on or any of my other ideas. They are between the people in my head and the notebook I write them down in (and sometimes–though rarely–my writing buddy). That’s just the way I like it.

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Friends and readers, the scourge of my laundry room is NOT the Sock Monster. You know the Sock Monster, right? He’s the one who steals one sock out of a load of laundry, leaving its mate lonely for as long as you hang onto it before you give up and throw it away. The Sock Monster is not the scariest monster in the average home. That would be the Closet Monster. I am a firm and unapologetic believer in both the Closet Monster and the Under-the-Bed Monster, and also firmly believe they are in cahoots with one another to terrorize us. Luckily, I have a platform bed with drawers, so the Closet Monster and the Sock Monster are the only ones I must contend with.

Though the Sock Monster is annoying, the real scourge of my laundry room is whoever keeps taking the baskets. I say this like I don’t know who does it and like I didn’t birth them both. We have seven laundry baskets somewhere in this house, and this morning, like every Saturday morning, I have to beg one of my offspring (today it was my son) to release a basket–just one mind you–from their grasp.

What happens to the clothes they empty from the basket so they can give it to me? They go on the floor, of course, to be examined later, decided they are dirty and washed again. I don’t mind. It’s not my laundry. I just want the basket.

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It’s a Camp NaNoWriMo month and the final polish of Whatever Will Be has begun! I hope to finish it and have it in the hands of a proofreader before NaNoWriMo in November.

I will likely have several posts about NaNoWriMo (including explaining what it is) beginning in August as I start my prep work. It’s coming, y’all. I’m excited about it.

As always, and until next time, do what makes you happy.

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