Well, that was a no-go. I told an earnest tale of writing the first 50 pages to see if my latest novel idea had legs. I didn’t write a word, not one word.

I could blame distractions — of which there have been many — but I won’t. The truth is, the novel idea was probably “not me” from its inception, and its inception began with two marvelous, sun-drenched weeks in Hawaii in January. I was in such a serene mood that I became enamored of a serene idea. Serene for me that is: women’s fiction, a story more about happily-ever-after than about murder and mayhem.

After Ghost Story Weekend, in which I reminded myself to listen to the loudest voice in my head, all I can say is this: No wonder my serene idea didn’t pan out. The ideas that excite me tend toward the dark side. I knew my serene idea was in trouble when a stalker entered the scene. But even with a stalker, I’m not interested. Yawn.

It’s a relief to officially let this idea go. It’s been dogging me for many weeks now. I had a big ol’ crush on the idea, but no way it and I would live happily-ever-after for the next year of writing and revising. Alas, coming up with a viable story idea is sometimes like kissing a frog.