The Next Big Novel

Mom seems to think that I could write a novel. She maintains that I have a way with words. That's debatable. But deep down inside, and maybe it has something to do with my voracious appetite for books, or my secret longing to actually be a novelist, I often times wonder if I could do it. Could I write a book?

What scares me, no, what petrifies me, about the possible monumental task, would have to be the research. The really good books, or at least the really good books that I have read, devote hours, weeks, even years for research. Yuck- for lack of better word... for research.

However, research aside, I do have a couple great ideas for novels. One would be historical fiction based on actual events. The other would be a contemporary comedy based on people I know, or perhaps, people I observe. Great fodder for comedy.  Of course there would have to be some tragedy thrown in. Readers'  emotions need to be played with after all.

So, should I do it?  Should I hole myself up with  my laptop in the  house?  Should I go on fact finding missions? Should I allow my dear husband and darling children the privilege of preparing meals and snacks for me and bringing  cups of tea to me in the late hours of the night while I'm in the middle of a paragraph that just needs to get done before I lose my train of thought?  The more I think about it the more excited I am becoming.

Maybe I'll get right on that next great novel. Maybe  I will go to the library and check out some material in the reference section. You know, get started on the research. Yuck.