Having only written Draft 1, and prepairing the outline for Draft 2, I feel like the novel is ready to take a course of its own. Finally. The characters are now really becoming their own characters, not reflections and guesswork of their inspirers. I see glimpses of plot, new scenes that didn't originally exist. We are wondering further and further away from the origins of inspiration. I don't fear it; I think it's good. This novel isn't about me, anyway. This book is about an artist and a family and the city of Savannah. This novel is about a painting.
There is still so much more for me to figure out. I am hoping to do some serious work on it tonight to bring these new scenes, and eventually a reconstructed outline, to life.
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