Suddenly I find myself working on an old story again. This is one I started working on almost 2 years ago. In short, it is a story about two sisters who find out that their father, of whom they thought he was dead, is in fact very much alive. He has started a new life somewhere, and so the two women venture out to find him.
I worked the initial idea out to the point where I could start to write. For weeks I worked very hard on this story. On rereading them this present day, I happy to see that some of the scenes are still worthwhile. I would love to change them, but still; there are some sparks in there.
The story has never really died. It was just that, one day in November 2008, I could go no further. The main storyline struck me as being too thin, lacking layers where it should be like an onion. No matter what I tried, I was unable to carry this out, the result was always artificial. But I knew the first idea was too good to let go of. So I put it all out of sight, in a file and out of my head completely.
And this week, as I was the idea of starting this novel of mine was growing on me, and moving around all these ideas in my head, the story popped up again, full-force. With new storylines, characters, which all feel completely natural, and it makes me very excited. It’s like I suddenly know of this buried treasure, and with the right equipment and devotion I can bring it to the surface. (At other times I fear I might be dancing on that thin crust over that sea of lava again. The threat of too much fire nearby.)
Could it be that there is a sequence in which your stories come to you? That this is the one that needs to be told first, before all others? I believe so, and hope I’m ready now. I really don’t want to put it aside again.
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