This is what I told myself a week ago. I told myself that I would have something published by the end of the year. And, sure, it’s only January, but I’m feeling extremely confident about this one. Actually, when you get right down to it, I’ve been having a blast with this project. And, for once in a very long time, I’ve actually been thinking about it before writing it all out. Oh, sure. I have some scenes already written down, and I have a notebook where I’ve been keeping the writing thus far (save for a scene which I’d typed up while sitting waiting for my flight to leave from the Delta terminal at Detroit Wayne County Metropolitan Airport), and in the back of said notebook I have notes for a timeline, bits of story here or there, ready to be added into the notebook when the time comes.
All in all, I’ve been treating this one almost with kid gloves. Yes, I want to simply jump off the diving board head-first into the warm, choppy waters, but I feel like… I can’t. Not just yet.
Because while this project has a timeline and a structure and a plot and characters, it doesn’t have a title. I mean, it doesn’t even have a working title. I’ve just been calling it “My Own Joy Luck Club” because right now that’s how it feels like it’s going to end up. It’s a story that spans at least two generations of falling in love and finding yourself. A multi-cultural love story, if you will. But it doesn’t have a name just yet.
And I feel like I won’t be able to properly move forward with the narrative until it does. I feel like it’s something that is severely lacking here. And yet, every time I sit down and try to figure out a title, nothing seems to work. I’m not caught up on it just yet, but I fear that it might become a problem in the later rounds. But for now, I continue to plot, and continue to construct, and continue to put the story together scene by scene.