Living the dream

I accidentally started writing a novel this weekend.

I was riding the F-train from Manhattan to Brooklyn around 2:00 Saturday morning. I was kind of drunk, but not really, and I started thinking about moss.

When I got home, I wrote a neat little paragraph about moss. And then I wrote a neat little story about two people worrying about the moss. And then I wrote scene after scene after scene of these two people, and suddenly it wasn't about moss anymore.

Then I took a shower. In the shower, I completely wrote three scenes in my head. I hurried out of the shower to write them down before I forgot.

I've never written this way before. I'm a planner. I write outlines and know every movement my characters are going to make from beginning to end. I also never finish anything. Writing like this is scary. The story is writing itself, and I don't know where it's going to end up.

The voice is strange, too. I'm writing in this kind of disjointed choppy voice. It doesn't sound like me, yet, it is me. I'm excited. The kind of excited you get after first kisses.