It's 346 pm today and I got soaked to the bone. I am now wearing my jammies and just polished off a cup of hot chocolate. I still feel chilly and the thought of climbing into a cave of blankets in the dark and not answering the phone or having any human contact whatsoever sounds absolutely divine...like the sort of thing you might find in the Elysian Fields, or something.
But.
I have work. I have some fresh ravioli in the fridge waiting to cooked for dinner. (roasted red pepper and garlic, if you wanted to know) and some more work to do on that second draft, plus preliminary work on the sequel.
Yeah. Sequel.
Writing is funny like that. Sometimes, when you're not even done with the first book, the second one is born, and it demands your attention the same way a screaming infant clamors for nourishment. It cannot be ignored. And in this instance, writing is just as soothing to me as a cup of cocoa. I write because I love it, because there is something I have to say, because those words will fill me up unless I pour them out onto paper.
What's the book about? Well, I'm not going to say. I will tell you that the second draft has begun. There are no glittery vampires or oversexed werewolves. There is, however, a very interesting man. And he's far from ordinary.
Snuggle up, friends. And you may want to leave the lights on.
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