Sunday, July 1, 2012
The Illusion of Choice
see more dog and puppy pictures
When I was twelve years old, my parents finally gave in to my years of constant pleading, and said I could have a puppy. Being an engineer's daughter, I immediately read up on the proper way to choose a strong and healthy puppy, beginning with how to pick the puppy up and examine it, looking for signs of disease, for the right sort of features and temperament, all of that. I was Prepared.
When we arrived at the breeder's, the strong, healthy puppies were running around, playing, wagging their tails while I studied them, trying to choose. And while all my attention was focused on that, one small puppy detached herself quietly from all the rest, ventured over and sat down and looked at us.
Did she choose us, or did we choose her?
And more importantly, why, on a blog about writers and writing, am I going on about puppies?
Well, being an engineer's daughter, I don't reach the end of one book without having a well-formed idea of what I'll be writing next. I knew, when I finished The Firebird, what book was meant to come afterwards. I'd even started the research, and made a new ring binder for it, and looked into travel plans. I was Prepared.
Sometimes it isn't a choice, what I write. Or at least, it's not my choice. The book chooses me.
Has this happened in your life, with novels (or puppies?)
(Come back and read Julie's post, Thursday)