When to start a novel?
I've had this idea for a novel for a few months now. It just started with a character having to deal with a *change* (didn't know what, except it was supernatural), and his father being involved, somehow. I had a daydream where they would fight enemies in a parking, exchange gun shots, steal a car, and go away.
I've been thinking of that idea a bit more, last week, and came up with a very basic plot. Still kinda blurry. I had a big problem with the antagonist's motivation. Fortunately, as an exercise, I wrote a fake conversation between her and one of her henchmen. That allowed me to understand her, as well as my henchman who's turning out to be a very interesting guy.
Overall, I decided it was taking shape, and no matter how big the plot holes, it was time to start writing.
Boy oh. This "writing a sex scene" bit must have had a bad influence on me. The first scene finds my young male protagonist in a dark alley with his boyfriend. They're, uh, a bit naughty, but don't want to get caught. I wanted to convey a sense of urgency and danger. Then something clicked.
There were two elements I took for granted: it was meant to be an urban fantasy, and my protagonist was gay. In my original setting, he's very at ease with his sexual identity, and is rather open about it. Now... that scene in the alley... Midway through, I realised it had to take place in the Victorian era. More difficult, so more fun, and it means that Donovan's homosexuality becomes a *problem*, not just a sexual preference. Oh, it also means I have to rethink half of the plot and most of the setting.
So, back to the drawing board. I'm quite fascinated with how this story is building up. I suspect there might be a few false starts with this one...
Conversation between my main antagonist and her henchman:
"So, that's it, you made me," the ghoul said to the woman.
He knew she was in her fourties, yet there wasn't a streak of white in her long raven-black hair. Her golden skin was smoother than when she was twenty. She had lost her baby fat, though -- her only concession to her real age. The ghoul suspected she used a glamour, or another way to cheat time.
"You'll be more useful to me like this."
The ghoul bowed. He had thought obeying her would be enough to keep his humanity, but he'd outgrown his usefulness as her fellow summoner. She needed brute strength more.
"Why are you still running after him? You could make another baby. You could have, all this time." Unvoiced, was his desire that this other baby, would have been his.
She threw her hands up. "Do you have any idea how disgusting it was to... to be raped by this incubus?"
The ghoul didn't see fit to mention that there was no rape, if the two parties were consensual. He shrugged, waiting for her to go on.
"Phil tricked me. He'd agreed to it, dammit! Can you believe I trusted him?"
*I trusted you,* the ghoul thought.
"Besides, I hated being pregnant. It changed me. I ended up... my god, my son. My baby. He took my baby." She slumped in the designer armchair. Her forehead was sweaty. "Phil took my baby."
"What will you do, when we find him?"
"Phil? I'll kill him. Slowly. Or maybe," she laughed, pointing at the ghoul, "I could always do with another slave."
"I would like some company. The other ones are stupid." He glanced through the window. The older ghouls were in the garden, staring at the trees as if they were a threat.
"Yes. Sorry. I was still learning."
"Actually, my question was about your son. What will you do with him?"
Her eyes glazed over. "I'd like to get to know him. Get him to know me." Her features hardened. "Then I'll kill him, so he can become what he's meant to be."
"You would do that?"
She sniggered. "What do you think?"
And why should he be surprised? Of course she would. She had killed countless people for her experiments. Once, she had bounded a berserker spirit to a four-year old baby girl, only to destroy her afterwards when she was satisfied that the concept worked.
"He'll be able to travel to the no-world. Be my spokesperson there." She massaged her temples, clueing him that she was still sore from her last communication with the astral plane monsters. "They'll be more willing to listen to me."
"And then?"
"Then... then I'll go there. I'll be a spirit, among the spirits. Immortal. Free from this world, from this failing body."
To note:
I misspelled ghoul as ghould a lot in this. Must have had a Stargate moment.
Since yesterday, my antagonist has ditched the designer armchair for something equally trendy, just more period-friendly (don't know what yet). Also, she suffers from consumption. Poor soul.
This is, obviously, not even a first draft. Just a fun way to get to know a character.
I've been thinking of that idea a bit more, last week, and came up with a very basic plot. Still kinda blurry. I had a big problem with the antagonist's motivation. Fortunately, as an exercise, I wrote a fake conversation between her and one of her henchmen. That allowed me to understand her, as well as my henchman who's turning out to be a very interesting guy.
Overall, I decided it was taking shape, and no matter how big the plot holes, it was time to start writing.
Boy oh. This "writing a sex scene" bit must have had a bad influence on me. The first scene finds my young male protagonist in a dark alley with his boyfriend. They're, uh, a bit naughty, but don't want to get caught. I wanted to convey a sense of urgency and danger. Then something clicked.
There were two elements I took for granted: it was meant to be an urban fantasy, and my protagonist was gay. In my original setting, he's very at ease with his sexual identity, and is rather open about it. Now... that scene in the alley... Midway through, I realised it had to take place in the Victorian era. More difficult, so more fun, and it means that Donovan's homosexuality becomes a *problem*, not just a sexual preference. Oh, it also means I have to rethink half of the plot and most of the setting.
So, back to the drawing board. I'm quite fascinated with how this story is building up. I suspect there might be a few false starts with this one...
Conversation between my main antagonist and her henchman:
"So, that's it, you made me," the ghoul said to the woman.
He knew she was in her fourties, yet there wasn't a streak of white in her long raven-black hair. Her golden skin was smoother than when she was twenty. She had lost her baby fat, though -- her only concession to her real age. The ghoul suspected she used a glamour, or another way to cheat time.
"You'll be more useful to me like this."
The ghoul bowed. He had thought obeying her would be enough to keep his humanity, but he'd outgrown his usefulness as her fellow summoner. She needed brute strength more.
"Why are you still running after him? You could make another baby. You could have, all this time." Unvoiced, was his desire that this other baby, would have been his.
She threw her hands up. "Do you have any idea how disgusting it was to... to be raped by this incubus?"
The ghoul didn't see fit to mention that there was no rape, if the two parties were consensual. He shrugged, waiting for her to go on.
"Phil tricked me. He'd agreed to it, dammit! Can you believe I trusted him?"
*I trusted you,* the ghoul thought.
"Besides, I hated being pregnant. It changed me. I ended up... my god, my son. My baby. He took my baby." She slumped in the designer armchair. Her forehead was sweaty. "Phil took my baby."
"What will you do, when we find him?"
"Phil? I'll kill him. Slowly. Or maybe," she laughed, pointing at the ghoul, "I could always do with another slave."
"I would like some company. The other ones are stupid." He glanced through the window. The older ghouls were in the garden, staring at the trees as if they were a threat.
"Yes. Sorry. I was still learning."
"Actually, my question was about your son. What will you do with him?"
Her eyes glazed over. "I'd like to get to know him. Get him to know me." Her features hardened. "Then I'll kill him, so he can become what he's meant to be."
"You would do that?"
She sniggered. "What do you think?"
And why should he be surprised? Of course she would. She had killed countless people for her experiments. Once, she had bounded a berserker spirit to a four-year old baby girl, only to destroy her afterwards when she was satisfied that the concept worked.
"He'll be able to travel to the no-world. Be my spokesperson there." She massaged her temples, clueing him that she was still sore from her last communication with the astral plane monsters. "They'll be more willing to listen to me."
"And then?"
"Then... then I'll go there. I'll be a spirit, among the spirits. Immortal. Free from this world, from this failing body."
To note:
I misspelled ghoul as ghould a lot in this. Must have had a Stargate moment.
Since yesterday, my antagonist has ditched the designer armchair for something equally trendy, just more period-friendly (don't know what yet). Also, she suffers from consumption. Poor soul.
This is, obviously, not even a first draft. Just a fun way to get to know a character.