Today’s post is supposed to be about Dorothea Puente. A serial killer that ran a rooming house and began killing the tenants for life insurance and their SSI checks. But, I become possessed by a book on Friday.
Last night, an update posted on where I was with writing. One of the books listed was Buried Dreams. It said “plotted, not started.” Something Friday morning clicked with the story and I put away my other four works in progress as well as today and tomorrow’s blog posts about Dorothea Puente (today) and Aileen Wuornos (tomorrow’s).
I wrote the first Killer Chapter of Buried Dreams and thought; that’s out, now back to the blog series. Nope. As I typed up a few paragraphs about Dorothea, an elderly woman who became a serial killer much later in life than normal… Buried Dreams invaded my brain and refused to leave.
Friday, I typed up 12,000 words on it. And I thought about it when I went to bed – never a good sign. My brain was composing, not just thinking about it. It was so bad, that on top of the prednisone insomnia I had writer’s insomnia.
Saturday morning, I opened the post on Dorothea again. Read the paragraphs I had written and then Buried Dreams surfaced again. and my brain remembered some of the composition from the night before. I put the blog post away and began writing on Buried Dreams again. At 1:30 pm, I had 22,000 words. We went to the campground at 2 pm and began closing up our camper for winter (packing things to bring home and what not). At 8:30, I pulled out my heated blanket and my predator lap throw and headed outside to write. When I shut down at 1:30, I had 28,000 words or so.
Sunday afternoon, I returned to it. Stopped at 4:30 to fix dinner and watch some TV and prepare for the Sunday night Chiefs game. At half time, I moved into my office, put the game on my phone and returned to writing. I wrote until my brain felt like mush and my fingers hurt on Sunday night. I shut down about midnight, exhausted and expecting to sleep like the dead.
I didn’t. Instead, in the dark with my body trying to relax, my brain resumed work. I had an 8 am doctor’s appointment. But as soon as my alarm went off at 6 am, my brain was once again writing. I even dreamed about the book to some degree.
I got home from the doctor at 9. Opened up WordPress to finish the Dorothea Puente post and instead, my brain latched on to what I needed to write next in Buried Dreams. At which point, I decided I needed to write this blog post to explain why Dorothea Puente’s post is going to be delayed. Good chance Wuornos’ will be too. As of 10 am, Buried Dreams is 40,003 words. And I have a solid seven hours of the day to write during still.
I will warn everyone Buried Dreams is a little different. It is going to involve “guessing” who the serial killer is, even with my usual killer chapters. I don’t know where this came from, I just know it exists. The premise of the book is “What would happen if a serial killer was burying his victims when he sealed the graves of people who had died perfectly ordinary deaths?” The first 40,000 words the SCTU suspects there’s a serial killer, they don’t know how they are killing their victims, and they don’t know what’s happening to the bodies, but there’s too many missing women who have too many things in common for it to be a coincidence.
Ok, back to the book. Oh… so Saturday on the way to the campground I warned J “you’re probably going to become a book widower this week, I just can’t stop thinking about this book at all and I don’t know why.” I don’t think he’s happy about it, but sometimes, there’s nothing I can do to stop a book except write it.