I’m reading what I had down for the novel I’d left unfinished since Jan 2019, to get back into the story.
It’s not about what I thought it was about. I’d thought it was about a young family in their new home. Instead, it’s about a widower in his late-60’s or early-70’s. His wife had just died. His kids are grown and have families of their own. He’s living in the house that he and wife had lived in for thirty years and he has to adjust to her not being there anymore. Among other things.
I’m reading this and I can’t believe I wrote it. This is probably my best writing. Now I remember why I stopped working on it in Jan 2019. It was too hot to handle. I felt a sort of pressure when writing it and it was overwhelming and exhausting me.
I hope I can finish it in the same tone that I started it.