Then I woke up, six in the morning on August 23, 2012, with an idea. An idea that came out of nowhere. A story for a book. I’m at a loss for an explanation.
A story that began with an accident. This suddenly triggers an art talent of a Van Gogh. This leads this Architect into being accused of fraud. Meanwhile the value of world markets in Van Gogh’s paintings plummet. Rumors of the possibility of reincarnation, is considered the basis of this talent. It solicits the question, where does talent come from? Are we born with it? Do we inherit it? Or do we develop it? In my story the possession of this great talent, ensues in a threat to his life.
Upon completion of the first draft, I hired an outstanding editor. She pulled out of me character development, scene description and stronger writing skills. A fraud trial, which began at 10 pages grew to 40. I believed I almost burned out my computer’s thesaurus from overuse. A first draft of 300 pages grew to almost 500.
Following my first draft, I submitted it for comment to three women. My wife in her seventies. A friend in her fifties. And a granddaughter in her twenties. They all returned with one major comment. “Add more sex!”
I straightaway followed their directions.