Cottonwood

 Back on May the first of this year I started writing a story about a man who is found naked and unconscious in a ditch near Waynesboro, Virginia on August 14th 1939. He is taken to a hospital in Charlottesville where he remains unconscious for two weeks, finally waking up on September 1st, the day that German tanks are pouring into Poland marking the beginning of WWII. When he wakes up he has no memory of who he is, what year it is or where he is.

At the time I had no idea what would happen to this character. All I had on May the first was this setup. Two days ago I finished the story, 100,000 words later. It turned out to be my sixth novel. It is also the sixth time I have started telling a story on the slimmest pretext of an idea only to have the idea mutate into a novel. I have no idea how this happens. It is seldom planned—“I think I’ll begin writing a novel today”—they always take me 8-9 months to complete and they are always crazy fun to write. And…when I finish them I battle two competing emotions. Relief and sadness. I will miss these people.

Not to give anything away but, it turns out that the man in the ditch got there by way of a time travel mishap from the year 2078. Although he has no memory he is endowed with a variety of abilities that serve him well in his new environment and a few which baffle him. The story is basically the story of how he finds his way building a life for himself and the people he encounters along the way, some who he grows to love and others who have come to “take him back”.

Now I’ve started the process of going back to page one to proofread and make some changes that a few of my designated readers have suggested. Then sometime next year I will attempt to get it published. What’s the title, you ask? I’m not sure. Working title has been John Doe, but I’m thinking about calling it either Cottonwood or The Cottonwood Tree.

I’ll keep you posted.