About five weeks ago a voice popped into my head, with a fully-formed character. His name is Kyle Randolph, and he wanted to tell me a story. I let him know that I had other things to do, but he didn't care.
He started telling me a tale about a search for love. I couldn't shut him up for the entire five weeks. I finally just listened and typed. I wrote an average of almost five thousand words a day, every day, and near the end of the five weeks he told me the ending.
The Men of Carolina is more than four hundred pages long, with about 175,000 words. I'm in the first post-draft review, and honestly am not sure what to do with it. Yesterday, Kyle popped up again and told me he has a friend who wants to tell me the story of The Women of New England. I told him to go blank himself. I think I hurt his feelings.