As you know, I just finished a rough draft of a novel that I've been struggling with for nearly a year. Tonight, as I'm planning my revisions, a new idea popped into my head. I'm not willing to share many details, because I suspect I'll lose interest once I start sharing my idea. However, this idea is based on a tiny tidbit of information I learned about one of my relatives when I was doing some genealogical research. Which means, it'd be set in the past, not my normal comfort zone, but I'm eager to get started.
My plans for this story consist of: no plans, no outline, just writing as it comes to me. That is, when I have time to get started.
Now, if someone can just explain to me why I get all my ideas when I already have a huge pile of projects underway and a time crunch.
So tell me, is this an opening that would intrigue you?
"What do you mean, he hung himself? That's ridiculous. He wouldn't hang himself."
"That’s what the police claim."
"That's BS." I was so upset at the thought of people believing he'd killed himself that I didn't even really comprehend that my grandfather was dead. He was my only relative in this country. He'd come over from Bohemia with my mother and I, to ensure we weren't taken advantage of while we got on our feet in the United States. Mother had died a few months ago in an accident at the market.
Grandpa would never leave me on purpose. Not when I was just getting over the loss of my mother.
"He was found hanging from the tree in back of the apartment."
"That's ludicrous." I yawned, exhausted. I'd been to help a friend of my mother's for a couple days. She'd been burned at the laundry where she worked. Burns on her hands had made it impossible to care for her children. It was now early morning, the roosters were barely crowing, and I was walking home with the boy who lived next to my grandfather and I.
"But why would he kill himself?" I asked again.
"I don't know. The policeman told me to fetch you."
"Well, what if I don't feel like being fetched?"
"Look, Lucy. Whether or not you want to be fetched, I don't need the police looking at me too closely. So you're being fetched. Maybe they can explain all this to you."
"Maybe they can, but I doubt it." I, like most other immigrants, had a deep-rooted suspicion and fear of the police. In our home country, they were corrupt and easily bought for a few coins. Here, we suspected it was the same.
I grabbed Joseph's arm and stopped walking. "Wait. What do you mean, you don't want them to look at you? What have you done?"
Any interest at all?