I started working on a new project. I dug into research materials, bought books, read books, scoured the internet, made timelines, began character arcs, scene notes, POV tabulations and then today, I scuttled it.
It was to be a story of Roanoke, the lost Virginia colony set between 1585 and 1592. It would have centered on the themes of freedom and betrayal, survival, religion, old world vs. new world with a strong romantic element. Sounded great – historical drama, romance and swashbuckling. What could be better? Well, one thing. It could be original.
I knew there were already many books on the subject, fiction and non-fiction, but I pressed on thinking I’d have a unique voice and a unique take on the tragedy. I might have, but there was no need. I write what I want to read but I read what I wanted to read. I don’t need to write it again. My unique style would be only a little extra spice in an already rich stew.
Lots of work. Weeks of research. Thousands of words, but I’m putting it aside and going in another direction. Such is writing; you got to know when to fold 'em... know when to walk away... know when to run. I'm outa here.