This morning I drive to Nashville to pick up a friend and have her come spend the week with us. I'm looking forward to the break from intensive writing and from my brain constantly mulling over the story.
Because now my inner editor is screaming to get out and fix the story. And of course, she's found pleny of holes to plug, dilemmas to solve and issues to iron out.
And she hasn't even read it! Well, but then the inner critic's voice has been silenced with duct tape and she's been pushed into a closet all week. Now she is out and she wants to be heard.
And that is a good thing. Sort of. For now I have removed the bindings and I am listening to her suggestions and her ideas and jotting them down in my story notebook.
It's a relief to know I don't have to fix it yet. And the third book needs a go around. A more serious polishing before March 31.
These damn books are never finished. They're ongoing adventures.
And it suddenly dawned on me this morning that if I plunge back into the first book, ever, it can't be about a developer for a construction company.
Bloody economy tanking has flushed that idea down the toilet. So seriously back to the drawing board for that first POS.
Oh, the joys of writing. Really.
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