When I finished Her Mother’s Hope and Her Daughter’s Dream, I was exhausted. I had enjoyed the work, but felt in desperate need of a rest. It’s my nature to want to jump into another project, and I had three ideas swimming in my head, like frogs in a race to a single lily pad. But the question wasn’t clear. Every book since Redeeming Love has begun with a quest for the answer to a question.
The first frog of an idea was/is the most “marketable”. In fact, several people I love and respect were pushing me in that direction. Every time I considered swimming in that direction, I got swallowed by an alligator. The story died before it even got started. The question then became “What is the point?” Story has to have purpose. I have to learn something from the writing of it.
The second idea is too close, too right now, too devastatingly painful. I’m not “far enough away” to be rational or objective. I need space and time before I can examine the question(s) and see the many-sided (man-made) answers man gives and receive the answers God might give. I’m still licking wounds.
So I dwell on the third idea swimming around in my head. Or the third dwells in me. I can’t get away from it. It’s there, splashing around, growing from polliwog to tadpole. The alligators have decided to bask on the bank somewhere. I dream scenes and conversations. I can see the characters. I can hear their voices.
And it’s all about love. Or rather — enduring love.