The clock is ticking and I have 226 days left in my self-imposed deadline to submit my novel for publication. I need to move.
No, literally, I need to move the location of the story.
My goal is to be an accomplished southern author. I love the South and all things about it. I love the people, the weather, the culture. And yeah, although it’s often not pretty, I love the history.
So, I’ve read some southern authors and have a reading list for more. The settings for all of the books I have in progress or have completed (which are in desperate need of editing) are all in the south. I’ve managed to place stories in Mississippi, South Carolina, North Carolina…
Why not Virginia? Why pick these locations with which I am less familiar? Locations where the history and in many cases, the culture require significant amounts of research.
Why don’t I write about the place I know the best? My home in Southwest Virginia?
In part, I think my resistance has been because of the familiarity. Or perhaps the anticipated judgment of those who watched me grow up. Or worse people believing, perhaps correctly, that I’ve written about them in a non-flattering manner.
After all, that didn’t work out so well for Alison MacKenzie in Peyton Place.
Still, as ideas often do, it came to me last night that I should indeed write about what I know.
So I’m moving.
I’m moving the setting of my current book to a small town in Southwest Virginia. And I’m anxious to do the same with others.
I need to get packing.