I was writing at B&N the other day and at an adjacent table I heard two younger women in their twenties discussing writing.
Actually I only heard one girl talking as the other girl seemed to be a mentor or something.
But the younger one--let's call her Gabby--was talking about her work-in-process in exacting detail. I know, from the tidbits I heard, that there was some sort of alien royalty and swords involved.
I remember when I used to TALK my books to death. I'd tell anyone who'd listen--my poor, supportive family--of everything I "intended" to write.
Therein likes the kicker. I talked more about the story than I actually wrote towards the book.
I know I'm taking a big leap here--Gabby may well have a completed draft of her alien royalty tomb done. But, just listening to her reminded me of my younger, naive self.
I had so many "great" ideas that I soon bored with. Once I "told" the story a few times, I was no longer interested in writing about it.
Today, when people ask me what I'm working on, I give the cliff-notes version:
A college senior cleans out her grandmother's house only to discover a well of family secrets.
or: The identical twin of a suspected terrorist tries to get on with her life while proving her sister's innocence. I think this might become my logline and I just drafted it for this piece. Yay, me ;)
And finally: A 16yo boy enters witness protection only to discover that his new town is comprised of Witsec refugees and their handlers. And there's paintball. Lots of paintball.
And now I'm going to excuse myself so I can get back to writing while the words flow from my fingers and ideas are ripe for the plucking.