The life most real to me. As evidenced by the preponderance of posts.
Rafe is arguing with me. If I sound astonished, it’s because I am. Rafe doesn’t argue, hardly ever. There just isn’t that much worth the effort of arguing about, in his eyes. Not to mention it makes people unhappy, and Rafe wants everyone, especially him, happy. Apparently, misrepresentation IS worth arguing about. I knew I […]
Rafe is deeper than I’d imagined, and he’s my character. I’m loving this book, seriously. 6,566 is the word count. And I really must go to bed. Sigh. More tomorrow. (On Rafe’s story, anyway. Whether or not I blog will depend on when the blog Martians tell me to.) If you get that, you’ve been
As more than one of my characters has learned, there is no resisting Rafe. I can hold my head up in their company, though, because I certainly gave it a good shot, for what? A week? That’s probably a record, for telling Rafe no. 2,141 words on his book tonight. He’s just so–persuasive. This is
Rafe Talked Me Into It Read More ยป
I hate the way I feel when I’m not in a book. Half-alive at best, and no one seems to understand. I’m resisting jumping into the next book, trying to get some things done around the house, re-connect with some beloved people, live a bit of real life. But I feel like most of me
Though I spent hours staring at it tonight, I didn’t write a word on the new attempted manuscript. (Okay, it probably wasn’t hours. I kept wandering off. Rafe and Taro is a really great story, very fun to read when I should be doing something…) Anyway. I did manage to make one change that should
Not even the 187,400 some words I gave up on editing, and tossed. Scratch that, start over. I’m a big girl. I can handle it. I’m not even in mourning. (Yet.) The words aren’t really gone, of course. I’m just not looking at them. As BJ told me (I’m so glad she’s around to tell
No Writing is Ever Wasted Read More ยป
No, seriously. Ask me. I’m thirty-five today. Whoopty-doo. I can’t even think of anything else to say. 187,400 is the word count. That’s a pretty significant cut. But I don’t care, and I can’t even face opening it. My dog wants out. Again. Friday night is the one-year anniversary of the last time my husband