Little flippin', a little floppin' and a whole lot of cameraderie

Just back from our kick-ass kick-off meeting. Lots of folks, including hatchlings. People getting ready to write for their first, forth, tenth time. Published writers seeking new genres and first-timers with not much more than the curiousity to try us out. Young reporters, receptionists, programmers, project managers, stay-at-home moms, professional travel writers, younglings. I drank in the creative passion of so many people in one space. Some of the proposed stories included: a cancer comedy, werewolves and the complications of modern life, a male-written romance novel.

Some of the writers had characters, plot lines, stories and time lines. Others had nothing but a title. I don't know many of these people at all, and those I know, I don't know well. But I love them; they're each and every one a sign that the amorphous, vapid American is not a pre-ordained destiny; that people thrive despite our educational and economic shackles.

Getting up to say my piece it all clicked. Insurrection is the name, the plot is as I'd indicated in my last post, and it is the third book in the series. It may not have many, if any, of the original two novels, but who's to say what's right? It'll work out. I'm worried about a 100,000-word novel count, but I'm determined, at least for November, to lovingly describe every scene, every meal, every person, every change in the weather. At the very worst it'll give me plenty of scrap to re-use somewhere else once I'm finished writing the novel in the way it was intended.