Lily Writes

Pulling into San Juan this morning feels bittersweet. One last day in paradise, and then it’s back to twelve degrees, snow, and ice. I did write on this trip—just not as much as I expected.

And no, it wasn’t the sunshine, the beaches, the excursions, or even the sea turtles gliding past our balcony in St. Croix yesterday that slowed me down.

It was the experiment.

I’ll say it plainly.  This isn’t working.

I write best in first person, inside my characters’ heads. They already live in mine, after all. When they speak, I can feel what they’re feeling, hear the cadence of their thoughts, and translate that directly onto the page. It’s instinctive. Natural.

But I read a lot—last year alone, 421 books—and many of them are written from a more distant author’s perspective. That style can be incredibly effective, especially when it comes to moving fluidly between characters within a scene. I thought it might be a good stretch for me. A challenge. A way to grow.

I thought—

Yeah. No.

The characters have hit a wall. They’re refusing to talk to me. Seven chapters in, the writing feels stiff. Stilted. Flat.

Not me.

So when I get home, it all gets rewritten. Sorry, Diana. Sorry, Luca. We’ll start over. I promise.

(And yes, I swear I heard Diana giggle and cheer. Luca was quieter—steady, thoughtful. With the backstory you gave me, how were you going to tell my story if you weren’t inside my head? Honestly. What were you thinking?)

Sometimes ideas work. Sometimes they don’t. That’s what drafts are for—testing, trying, figuring things out. This just wasn’t the right story to experiment with narrative distance. Maybe another book someday. Or maybe that style simply isn’t mine.

And wow… I think I hear the bleachers cheering in my head.

Knock it off, characters. You’ll get your turn. Trust me. There’s a whole lot of snow and ice waiting back home, which means there will be plenty of time to tell your story—properly.