So this is new.
I’ve been writing my whole life, but I didn’t expect this. A story I began, started to develop into a novel, without me knowing. It wasn’t my fault! Is it normal to wake up with it and go to bed with it? Is it normal to speak your characters’ dialogues while in the shower? Is it normal to lose interest in every other job in the world and try to mouth I want to be a writer, in your pillow?
I don’t know.
And now it’s 200 pages long. I don’t know what happened.
When I wrote the first few pages, I gave them to a friend. She said “OMG WHAT’S GOING TO HAPPEN NEXT, TELLME TELLME”. And I couldn’t. Not because I didn’t want to, but because I didn’t know. I decided to write and learn things on the way. Like I am reading it for the first time. It’s been a wonderful experience so far.
And why did I choose chick lit? That’s what I feel like reading at the moment. And Toni Morrison said, (or a variation of what she said): I wrote my first book because I wanted to read it.