Books I Want to Write

Yesterday, I woke with chills and cold sweats, and ended up spending most of the day in bed, but was too uncomfortable to sleep. So I read.

I’m not a big Dean Koontz fan, at least for his writing style, but he tells a great story. So yesterday, I read the book The Taking, by Dean Koontz. I won’t reveal the entire plot, but basically, the end of the world is upon us in this story, and it’s told in the most unusual way. It took me about five chapters or so to really get into it, to lose myself in the story, and that wasn’t good. On my busier days when I’m feeling well a story that takes me that long to get into probably isn’t going to be read. I’m glad I read this one, though.

See, it taught me some things.

The first thing I learned is that I am never going to write a story with the title “The Any-other-single-word”. That is, no The Taken, The Taking, The Rising, The Lost, The Whatever. Nope, never. No ‘the’ anything.

The second thing I learned from this requires I tell you a little story.

I was about five chapters from the end of the book, maybe seven, give or take. I was in bed, reclining comfortable, shivering under a pile of blankets. My dog was wandering around the house, and I could hear the click, click, click of his nails on the hard wood floors. This book has some amazing dogs in it, let me tell you.

I’m engrossed in the book, the sunlight is fading outside the window and there’s only one small lamp on in the room. I’m turning pages quickly. Click, click, click. What’s going to happen next? Click, click, click.

Turn the page while the sun outside the window quietly slips below the horizon, leaving me in near darkness.

Clickety, clickety, clickety. The dog chases the cat, the cat hisses and spits, the dog runs up and jumps on the bed.

I scream.

Literally, I scream out loud.

That’s when it hit me.

I want to write books that can make people, editors who can usually figure out the plot twists before they happened, the seasoned veterans who have seen a lot of writing… I want to write books that can make people scream.

Or cry.

Or laugh out loud.

In spite of themselves.

I don’t want to be the next Dean Koontz. That’s not my style. I don’t want to be the next Rowling or Grisham or Roberts or Jackson.

I want to be the next me… and I want to write novels, the kind that can make people scream without wanting to, cry without realizing the tears are streaming from their faces, to laugh out loud while everyone else in the room looks at them askance.

I want to write best selling novels that move people, that make them feel something and think something they might not have felt or thought without me putting it into words.

I’m not there yet.

But I will be.

Love and stuff,