When I’m writing a novel, there usually comes a point when I realize what it’s all about. Not the details of the plot–working them out is a constant process–but the reason I’m bothering to write it. It’s a bit odd that I never seem to figure this out before I starting in on the thing, but there you have it.
Anyway, I’m deeply into the first draft of the sequel to my novel The Portal, and I find that I have suddenly reached this point. Which is a considerable relief, actually. Now I’m not just telling a story; I’m telling a story that matters to me.