For some reason, I thought this shift from non-fiction back to fiction would be natural. I have been writing so much the past few years, from entries to my own blog about politics, my life, my family, my teaching, to contributions to the library blog, to lessons and examples for my students. I feel comfortable writing what I know and doing research to write about what I don't know. It's as natural as breathing. I inhale -- think -- and exhale -- write. In, out, think, write.
But fiction is its own beast, isn't it? To make stuff up! Invent! Create people, settings, situations! This isn't quite breathing to me yet.
And so I practice.
Ronald and Cynthia, they're still figuring things out. A couple thousand words in, I felt like Ronald's point-of-view (even third person, slightly detached) was too creepy; I inserted scenes that were more removed from him to give the reader (and me) a break. I'm not sure how successful those breaks are and what, ultimately, it means for the story. But I'll try to finish the draft today and move onto something else tomorrow.
(Cross-posted at wordpress)