For some reason, every time someone starts writing science fiction, they end up doing a trilogy. I never quite understood that.
Until now.
My current WIP (work in progress) is science fiction. It’s about a Special Forces soldier who wakes up in a lab, only to find out he’s a cloned. This would be problematic enough, but because of the limits of the technology, he’s no longer a robust thirty-five-year-old, but a scrawny, pimply fifteen-year-old with the raging erection to prove it. When he finds out they only cooked him to get some information out of his head—and that they plan on terminating him once they get it—he escapes, only to find that the best place for him to hide (and hopefully regain the memories everyone is searching for) is in the one place he never wanted to return: high school.
I never intended for this to be a trilogy. I figured he’d do his thing, find the memory, save the girl, and live happily ever after. Then I got to the end. My brain has a sick sense of humor (like I have to tell you that) and had one last trick to play on poor little old me before it was done with the first draft: the very last line.
Some would just delete it and move on with their lives. I wanted to, but the last line was such a perfect set up for a sequel, that I couldn’t resist. So in a couple days, I’ll get back to work on book #2.
But a funny thing happened when I started working on book two’s outline: book three showed up and told me, “Hey, not so fast there, pilgrim.” It didn’t actually say pilgrim. In fact, it’s a book that hasn’t been written and can’t actually speak, but you get my meaning.
Why is it that that sci-fi comes in threes? I’d have been happy with just the one, or even two, but three is turning into a monumental pain in the backside. And yet...
So I’m becoming a human cliché and writing a science fiction trilogy. I apologize. Now leave me alone. I’ve got some serious work to do if I ever want to finish.
Wednesday, April 29, 2009