Saga Part 2

April 20, 2009 at 12:34 am (The Saga, Writing Journal) ()

Wade demands the story be told  of how he was first bitten.

My daughter graduated from High School in 1986. She moved out on her own. And we moved to Lincoln City, on the Oregon Coast, where my husband took a ministerial position. In the Spring of 1998, my computer died. As someone who is addicted to the computer, it was a real challenge, especially since I was desperately seeking some diversion. To easy my cravings, I began going through old stories, trying to plot new ones, using a pen and paper.

Suddenly Wade Kain came to my mind. He was the cop from “Mother’s Love.” He had been involved with vampires, but didn’t remember what happened. He literally demanded that I tell the story of how he was first bitten. It was one of those magical times that a writer hopefully experiences at least once. He wrote the story. It flowed from me in a wonderful flood of creativity. I told the story of how Wade and his friends went camping in the Oregon woods, only to be found by a group of vampires. Cassandra took him back to her lair to be her sexual plaything.  I played out my own sexual fantasies. Another vampire entered the story, Donovan, a 180-year-old vampire, who had died at the Alamo and now was a psychiatrist. He was the one who made sure that Wade didn’t remember anything about vampires.

I completed the handwritten  rough draft. Then I began to work on the story of why Prane and her children were hiding from her husband Stefan. The third story would be “Mother’s Love”. I had just started to write what happens after Prane and Wade meet when my computer was returned. Immediately I  sat down at the keyboard and didn’t get up for 12 days. I had a 54,000 word novel. But I didn’t stop there, I went back to the first story and soon had another 50,000 word novel.

Over the next six months, I completed four novels, all over 50,000 words, and started on the fifth. An amazing feat. But even more amazing is that when I read them, they seemed to be really great. Usually I write and I rewrite, adding layers and layers, changing and tinkering. But as I read these stories, they held together. They were good! The best thing I had ever written.

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