Last night I cleaned out all the notes I've accumulated over the couple of years of writing this book, including handwritten, typed and printed pages, note cards and scraps. The pile filled the gerbil's old 10-gallon tank. That's a lot of trash. I did keep some notes, the ones showing the link between thought and finished product. Those were about five pages.
I've been working on this book so long, some of my newish blog buds might think it's my first. There was another before BVA, a magical romp with a young lady on the run, forbidden love and fireballs. It was called Stolen Magic at first, and later changed to Ea's Gift to avoid duplicating another published novel. This is the effort that caught my agent's eye, even though it went nowhere and was eventually shelved.
Writing EG was fun and exciting. I thought every book would be that way. Hahaha, what a silly goose I am.
Writing BVA felt like slicing open my own gut, pulling out my intestines, measuring the entire slippery length, then hauling them back in and stitching the wound myself. I didn't realize till I finished that sentence how true it is. Now that it's finished I can see why it was so hard, but that will be a post for another day.