novels – Page 7 – Michael Seidel, writer

I overheard two strangers chat a little in the coffee shop. One asked the other about the book he was reading. The other replied, “It’s Dostoevsky. It’s written as a series of letters.”

Poor Folk, I guess, sneaking a glance over. I’d read it, I remembered, wondering if that was the book he was reading. I took a minute to hunt down when I’d read it, remembering it was the summer of 1989, when I was living in Germany. I took summer college courses which addressed different Russian, Jewish, French, and American authors. Dosteovsky was one of three Russian writers.

Over thirty years ago, I suddenly realized with a mental thud. The race of time surprised me once again. I’ll be 68 years old this year. That just amazes me. It shouldn’t, I know, yet it does. It feels like just yesterday that I was thinking, wow, Dad is 68 this year. Gonna be seventy in a few.

And now it’s me.

A new novel concept just stormed my mind. Problem, of course, is that I need to finish the beast I’m working on. Its progress has slowed. The rush of the first draft is like driving somewhere. Some difficulties might be encountered, but overall, it’s just adding up the miles. The real work and the associated tedium begins after that first draft, when I need to seriously address everything and ensure plot points dovetail, characters stay true, and the story is interesting and decently told.

That hard work, though challenging and satisfying, begins to bore my imagination, who feels lost and left out. So story ideas percolate. Sometimes, like this one today, they boil over.

But still, I gotta make a note of this one somewhere where it won’t get lost in the stash of other story ideas I want to pursue, and then make the time to write it.

That’s how it goes.