It’s been nearly classical autumn here, from blue sky and the beginnings of blazing red-gold foliage to brooding overcast and rain. At this time of the year, I start thinking about first planning for National Novel Writing Month (November).

I had an idea, but there’s a big difference between an idea and a story. As a result of random wandering on the Internet, some characters have stepped forward, and now I have a story. It’s a really different story from the one I thought I was going to write: not a wild steampunk romp a la Russe, but an elegaic love story with yet another of my artist-necromancers (this one a forensic artist) as the protagonist … and the other party, a 17-year-old Bronze Age sacrifice who never got a chance to live. It’s somewhere on the Pygmalion/Frankenstein/Dorian Gray spectrum, and I’m unexpectedly excited about it.

It’s taking me to some interesting places. This year’s NaNo novel was going to take me to foreign parts, but I didn’t expect I’d be hanging out with ancient Northern European druids and modern artists who do facial reconstruction (one of my many dream jobs, actually).

I’m staggered at how much I don’t know, but I’m going to follow Stephen King’s advice and write the novel first (wild party #1, scheduled for November) and then do intensive research while my trusted betas are reading it (wild party #2, for the dark of December).

If I know one thing, it’s that the research will probably make the story more weird, not less.