Jam-party Time!

Happy news calls for some jam-time

 

Yeah, I have an agent. Oooh, ya-ya-ya-ya. (That's my best Bruno Mars impression). 

So, here's how it went down. Now, before you feel sudden and incendiary rage over how this happened, and maybe want to beat me senseless, let me say that:

I realize this is not the normal course of getting an agent. I know. Really, I do.  

I began sending queries for WHISKEY NOVEMBER on 11/5/12. I sent to my top ten agents, and followed that up with my next ten choices. 

Then I settled in for a long wait. 'cause, you know, querying is a long process. 

Right?

By 11/9. I had five full requests. I hopped over to the awesome critique partner group I particiapte in and said, 

"Tamara, Carrie, Heather, Angela, Tristina and Amber, I have five full requests, homies. How the hell did this happen?" They just danced a happy jig (because they are awesome like that) and told me to enjoy the ride. 

Then on the 14th, I got an email from  Nalini Akolekar of Spencerhill Associates asking for "THE CALL." Now, Nalini was in my top ten list, specifically, number four. I was over the moon!

I raced over to my girls and we all held virtual hands and danced in a crazy circle of joy. I had the lovely call with Nalini in which she offered representation for WHISKEY NOVEMBER and future books. 

Then, I nudged all the other agents who had my full and prepared to wait, again. Or not. 

I heard back from two right away that, due to the holiday, they wouldn't be able to complete reading it and stepped aside. One other was on vacation until well past our deadline and the last I didn't feel was quite the right fit for me, and I withdrew my submission. 

I was able to email Nalini the next morning to accept her offer. That's 10 days from querying her to offer of representation. Whoa, man.

Ultimately, I think somethings are just supposed to happen, and this is one of them. The normal constraints of too little time, and too much waiting parted ways in my case. 

My CPs did this for me:


 

And I'm still on CLOUD FREAKIN' 9, PEOPLE!!

Thanks for sharing my great news. WHISKEY NOVEMBER is already on submission (Nalini doesn't play around, yo.)  We're hoping to have some kind of feedback by Christmas, but you know, our good timing can't hold out forever.

***I have some tips on query letter writing, thanks to feedback I received from querying WHISKEY NOVEMBER. Look for that post, soon.**



    

         

Excitement!!

Something exciting has happened!

That's all I can say right now, but you've probably guessed it is writing related. It makes me go all like this (Cause these are my happy moves, yo.)

Menage A WIPs?

This isn't a surprise to some of you, but I'm cheating on my current work-in-progress with another book. Err, make that two other books. I know. I'm insatiable. 


Here's the thing: I can't work on just one thing at a time. My brain isn't wired to be creatively faithful. 


Yesterday I was asked, "How do you manage all those characters?" Its not easy, but to satisfy my madness, it is absolutely necessary. 


Here's a break down of what I'm working on now:


Edits on my debut, coming out tentatively in the spring 2013

35,000+ finished on work-in-progress #1, Paint River (Paint River Cowboys, book 1). 1st draft will be done my October 15th (I promised my CPs!)

30,000+ words in on Constant Craving, work-in-progress #2. ON HOLD

Synopsis and complete outline, plus first two chapters on book #2 for my debut, nearly completed. 


My thought process won't let me stop thinking, doing, writing, creating and building worlds. It just won't, so I must keep a constant stream of writing flowing out of me lest I combust from the force of it.


Here's how I do it:

• I break 8 hours up into chunks and dedicate 2 hours per project, 3 days a week. The other 2 days a week I dedicate to only one project, though I may make a lot of random notes about other things. On the weekend, I either schedule or panster my way through, if I have the time.

• My job as an EMT allows time to write in between ambulance runs (most of the time). I hit one project hard and heavy whenever I'm on call.

• I get up early or stay up ridiculously late.

• My girls are in dance class once a week, that takes 2 hours. I use this time to outline, sketch a scene, etc..

 

• Music is my friend, my creative partner, my escape. 

• Coffee. My coffee intravenous line is wonderful. (just kidding...)

It gets a little hairy sometimes, but it is paying off:

I already have interest from 2 publishers in the Paint River series, and it isn't even done yet! SCORE!

My debut revision will be done on time, dammit!

Constant Craving is simmering nicely, waiting for its chance to come back to life. And it will. Oh yes. (I simply can't deprive the world of Beckett much longer).


If I keep a similar pace, I'll meet my 2013 goals which are:


Have my debut OUT!


Have Paint River on submission with book #2 completed


Have the second book in the series for my debut completed


Have Constant Craving ready for submission by Jan 2014.  


Oh, and still have a shred or two of sanity!


A friend called me prolific. I take that as a compliment, but what will touch me more is being prolific AND good. There's no sense in writing a ton if it's all shit, right? 


Time will tell. For sure.











 

All the Pretty Girls (or not)

All the Pretty Girls

I was thinking last night about how my daughters will likely read my books when they are old enough to enjoy adult romance. And that made me suddenly very happy that the heroines I write about are often flawed and imperfect.

 

For that fact, so are the heroes. Why?

 

Let's put it this way. I've never been a beauty queen. Passably plain is about as close as I can come to describing myself. Now, this isn't self flagellation, it is simply the truth. Yes, I've always been one of those girls who looks in the mirror and pokes and prods my face with a big 'ole frown, wondering why my nose has to be so big, my face so broad, my eyes too small. And why the HELL do I have such a big crease right between my eyes? Why? 

 

I digress...

 

I just turned 39 and this self-realization still bothers me. Probably because I've spent almost half of my life wearing either a medic uniform, or jeans and a T-shirt. If further fashion besides black, moisture-impermeable pants with a gazillion pockets, a blue button-down shirt and heavy black duty boots exists, I'm oblivious to it. 

 

 

Aren't those boots sexy? Yeah. I thought not. I'm just not a girly-girl, even though a large part of me wishes I was. 

 

What does this have to do with imperfect characters? Because, though my daughters are both gorgeous, its good for them, and others, to know that people can be beautiful even with imperfections. No one is really perfect and though I always give my character men a totally rocking exterior, they always have a major flaw somewhere.

 

The leading ladies, too. They may be curvy or have scars or a physical handicap or an illness or something that makes them loveable, yet so very, very human. 

 

When young women read my work, I want them to see and relate to characters who are awesome brain-candy, yet so very real. You can be scared, plain, scared of something, maybe even a little ditzy and still come out ahead. 

 

Now if someone can tell me how to get rid of this crack between my eyes, I'd be all set. 

 

 

What's it Like Working with a Small Press?

I had two pretty significant questions thrown in my lap this week. I wanted to address them because, well, apparently people are thinking about this stuff and if I can help someone else making a tough writing decision, great!

1. Why didn't you hold out for an agent?
2. What's it like working with a small press (Etopia Press)? Are the real or just an indie/vanity thing?
   

 Here are my thoughts:

#1: We all know the importance in making the publishing choice that's best for us and our book at the time. Be it an agent, self-publishing or working with a small pub, choosing takes research. 

I started research two years ago, looking into small presses as a way to get my foot in the door, so to speak. It started with Ellora's Cave and Samhain Press. They'd put out calls for submissions frequently and I thought, "I can do that! I can write something for a press like this!" I was already elbows deep into my novel and future submission to a small press was always in the plan. 

When I received two offers from different small presses, I immediately asked authors whom I admire, who are published by small presses, about their experiences. I heard only GOOD THINGS. Two of the authors are now NYT Bestsellers via their respective small presses! You simply can't skip the value found in the opinions and experiences of authors already walking in the shoes you want for yourself.

My CPs encouraged me to query agents too and boy am I glad they did! Not only did I get an incredible amount of interest in the book, I also received good feedback, two offers for revise and resubmit and really valuable querying experience. 

Ultimately, because I have two other book series already in the works, I was ready to let Heat Rising run it's course and move into the 'published' vs. 'waiting' world. A small press offered me that chance and it felt right.


#2:  First, Etopia Press is not a vanity press (PLUS, have you seen their book covers? Wowza!). They are a legit publisher of both online and print fiction. I'd say the same is true of the top six small publishers whom you see frequent releases from. 

 Now that I have my foot in the door (both feet, I suppose), here's how the process has gone so far:

• I received the first editorial letter yesterday. My editor made suggestions that are spot on, for adding to and clarifying the storyline. I'm lucky  in that my letter was slightly less than two pages (I've heard of 10-page editorial letters and that scared the shit out of me!) We expect my book to go through 3 rounds of edits before it is ready for publication.

• I have about a month to complete this first round of edits.

• We're considering a title name change. This is also something I expected.

I don't have a release date or any other information quite yet. I have a direct line of communication with my editor, who is not only professional but friendly and incredibly personable, too. It's nice that we can crack a dirty joke on Twitter and then get back to edits. 

Was I afraid of stuffy, completely serious editors? YES I WAS! Having nothing to compare this process to, I had no idea what to expect. 

Was I afraid it would take days/weeks/months to get the editing process started? Hell yes, I was. I'm still amazed that it only took days to get the ball rolling. 

All-in-all, I'm very satisfied with how things are going so far. Now it is up to me to hold up my end of the bargain and knock these revisions out of the park!

Hand me a couple bottles of wine and I'll be all set. :)

Do you know someone considering working with a small press? I'm happy to help anyway I can. I'll be sure to post more about my small-press experience as I go. 

Big News!

It is pretty amazing what can happen in two months' time. I started sending queries to agents and publishers on July 1st, 2012 and I'm happy to say, as of September 3rd, I've signed Heat Rising to Etopia Press. 

I feel like my head was spinning constantly these past two months. The manuscript attracted much more attention than I EVER thought possible, considering this is my first completed work and, to be honest, the completed manuscript could still use some work. While I received my fair share of rejections, Heat Rising also generated  two offers and two 'revise & resubmit' from agents who were on my 'Top 10' list. That alone was pretty damn exciting! Not to mention five requests for full manuscripts and a handful of partial requests, all within the first month of querying! 

Trust me. I felt like I'd won some major award with all those requests. Let's not talk about how every rejection brought me down, OK? Ok. 

So, Etopia Press found ME and came knocking on my email door. Because I'm nosy, I did quite a bit of digging around and talking to some of their authors, etc. I'm happy to say that nothing but good things popped up (obviously, or I wouldn't have signed, right?) So, I had a decision to make.

• Take offer #1
• Take offer #2
• Complete and submit 'revise and resubmit' requests.

After much contemplation, I liked knowing that someone loved Heat Rising enough right now, to grab it in it's current form and work on it after it had been signed. And after researching both offer options, Etopia Press was the more comfortable choice. 

Plus, I'm already ears-deep in my next novel and am ready to move Heat Rising along so I can open the doors for new things. So, a huge thank you to Etopia Press for taking a chance on me and I can't wait to share more great news! 

Launch dates and all that coming up soon. 

Of course, I have to plug my support group for getting me this far. Heat Rising sat in a drawer for almost 7 years before I was introduced to a group of amazing writers, who kept on me until I finished that first draft. And they've been there the entire time. I can't wait until they are all agented and published because, clearly, they ALL DESERVE IT! 

Thank you WrAHM-ers and The Amazing CP Group!!

A Sharp Turn Left

I'm still driving down the writing highway and have decided to make a sharp detour. I've fallen in love with another book. I know. I know. While I was elbow-deep in my next work-in-progress, a little niggling story line kept popping in my head, nudging me. Ok, it was really erecting a billboard in my brain with big, red letters, 'WRITE ME'. How can I resist that?

And, since the book I was working on is actually part two of HEAT RISING, which is out in agent-query land, I thought it best to move on to something unrelated for the moment. 

Here are some random tidbits about what's in the works now:

  

Beckett and Darby were high school sweethearts until a racially-fueled tragedy forced Beckett to turn his back and walk away. Beckett isn't just any member of the Red Rock tribe of Ojibwe--he's prophesied to be the strongest healer in their written and oral history. Beckett knows chasing Darby off is for the best--especially when death threats against her start showing up. When she shows up in Red Rock ten years later, both of them know their connection isn't broken. There's racial tension, murder, suspense, some creepy stuff and a whole lotta lovin' and hot romance. Promise!!

• This book is a contemporary romantic suspense. No paranormal this time. I know--sad face. More parasexies in the future though, I promise. 

• You want Beckett Isham to be your doctor. You will make up illnesses as an excuse to see him. Daily.

• Darby Petit is one damn lucky woman and you want to hate her because she gets the doctor all to herself (eventually).

• There are 64 steps going down the cliff. How do I know that? Because the steps going down are the exact steps I ran up and down as a kid to get from our cabin to Lake Superior. 

• Red Rock is really a mixture of Bayfield and Cornucopia, Wisconsin, where we had a cabin. Pictures to come as soon as I get them scanned.

• Beckett is based on a real person. Any guesses on where I got the inspiration for the name, Beckett? (P.S. QUANTUM LEAP: Samuel Beckett #swoon)

• Yes, I'm part Ojibwe, but you'd never, ever know it. My Grandmother, who raised me, was a member of the Red Cliff band.  She celebrated her Ojibwe heritage and grew up speaking the language, though she forgot much of it over time. She'd still dream in Ojibwe though. Isn't that cool? I speak a very tiny bit of the language, but will save you from how badly I mutilate it. 

• Someone does get killed.

• There are lots of sexytimes.

• You'll never look at a S'more the same way. Ever again. 

 To tide you over, here is my visual Pinterest board for this new work. You're welcome:

 

 

My Life is a Whole Lot of Frenzy!

I thought I was being smart but it turns out I was being very stupid.

See, this opportunity arose and I grabbed it--with no regrets--despite kinda-sorta knowing it wasn't a good time to be taking hold.

What the hell am I talking about? I'll tell you. Let me preface by saying my current situation is a little like the one this author finds herself in, minus the school riot and college madness. Instead, my story is a tad bit like her frantic ending--when she queries a manuscript that's not really ready AND gets a bite!

http://readingwritingrachel.blogspot.com/2008/09/my-route-to-publication-part-i.html

See, here's what I did. I entered a fantastic contest put on by a publisher that I really love. They asked for a pitch and first 100 words and if chosen by an editor, we'd be able to send in a full. I knew I was getting **close** to querying...and with the encouragement of friends...I entered. Knowing my pitch sucked. And my first 100 words suckity-sucked. And there was no way my missing-6-chapters and hasn't-been-edited manuscript would be requested.

Yeah, as usual, I was wrong. ::Happy Dance:: I was chosen! Yay, they like me, they really, really like me!! 

::throw up from nerves::

Shit. They like me. They really-want-my-full-manuscript-by-the-end-of-the-week-freaking-like me. 

:: It must be turned in by this Friday::

Two a.m. became my new friend, folks, as I busted my ass, my sanity, my fingertips and my husband's patience to finish my book in 2 (YES, 2) days. 

It is done. It is done. But it is crappity-crap and in the hands of my lovely, wonderful, talented critique partners right now. Will it be edited and ready for editor's eyes at one of the houses on the top of my MUST SUBMIT to list?

To make myself feel better, I frequently remind myself that only 25 requests were made from like 180 entries. Then I go back to nervous-puking. 


::cries...a lot:: ::Pops some imaginary Xanax::


I'll let you know how it turns out next week :)

My Heart is Still Broken

I realized something today on the way home from the grocery store. Actually, let me say that I remembered someone, instead. A secondly, let me add that this memory in no way takes away from the love I feel for my husband and family. Rather, it solidifies how deeply I have always fallen in love with the things that matter to me. Even when I was too young and naive to realize that emotionally, I'm a clutch-and-hang on type person who in turn, over time, has learned to also let go when necessary. 

That is a hard lesson to learn. 

Back in high school, I was madly in love with this boy. He wasn't an ordinary boy, as any teenage girl in love is want to say, but the perfect boy. That one incredible boy that made my heart race with even the mere promise of a smile. And when he did smile, my everything melted. My heart. My world. Everything. 

He was above and beyond all the boys I ever had secret crushes on. And above and beyond every boy I had ever kissed, giggled with, snuck away to a dark room with or held hands with. He was more than all that.  He was, in my mind then, the only boy that mattered. 

Both before and after he died...for, even, a very long time after he died. 

He wasn't from our school, so seeing him became a challenge. When our schools did get together for sporting events or choir competitions, etc...knowing that I would see him took mountainous precedence over what event was actually taking me to see him. And then we'd meet. And stare at each other when we thought no one was looking, and smile and pretend to be bashful, all the while staring harder. Getting closer together, until we were there, hip to hip and my nerves would do amazing things--all fireworky-like and fluttery and...hot. 

I was madly in love with that boy. To this day, a part of me still is. Madly and completely. We never had the opportunity to actually be together, aside from when our schools would mesh. We tried. The last time his school played mine, we tried. His team was painfully superior to ours. We knew this and our school hated their school and especially him because he was so freakishly good at basketball. 

He was freakishly good at everything--honor band, straight A student, set to go to medical school and make his community proud. Despite his awesomeness, our student body and most of their parents still hated him because he was good. Did I mention, also, that he wasn't white like the rest of us? Oh yeah, they hated him because of that, too. Mostly because of that. 

That last game, I watched his every move. And he'd turn and smile at me when he could, in between the sweat and the running and jumping and scoring more points that game than he had all season. Inside, I cheered him--so loudly in my head that it threatened to burst out for real so they all knew, everyone on my side of the stands, that this boy mattered more to me than our entire team put together. 

They won, we did not and the aftermath was horrendous. Parents rushed the court. Our players started shoving. There was profanity and physicality and threat and he was ushered off the victorious court before he could be hurt. He turned and caught my eye that one last time, with a small wave of his hand, before he was swallowed by his team and led away.

Three days later, he was dead. 

I won't dishonor him by reliving how he died, but, ultimately, it was in a way that we, as parents, hope our children never do. It was preventable; so very, very preventable. And I could go into how I knew that he was dead before the phone call ever came in, and the apparition of the nun who visited me in the night, and the dream of a white feather inside a dresser drawer, which later was proven true. But I won't because those memories, on a much more visceral level, are mine and only mine.

But I will share how this one boy and those needful feelings that were both untested and tender, showed me as an adult how important it is to love. To grab a hold of your desire with both hands and grab tightly. And to love that thing, that person, that want, no matter what other people may think of you. 

You want to write because you love it so much? Grab it.

You want to start a business because the thought never leaves your head? Grab it.

You want to write music/paint/sculpt/travel...please, please. Just grab it. With both hands and see where it leads.

It seems that every time I doubt myself and my wild, non-traditional wants/dream/goals and I think I can't do it, I think of him. And I can still see his smile, staring in through the classroom window the last time we had choir competition together. I can feel his warmth sitting next to me on the bleachers where we said nothing but our smiles said it all.

We said, grab it! Grab a hold and let's see what happens. I hope that you will do just that. 

~Lisa

I'm so glad no one ever said this would be easy~

Last month, I announced to my friends and family on Facebook, that I'd finally (after 8 years) finished my manuscript. I may have been jumping the gun a little when I said it was finished (OK, I did); however, I felt that just having all the scenes written was a major accomplishment. 

 

Writing 90,000 words worth of scenes took for...ev...er.., as you who write, very well know. I'm finding that this initial writing wasn't really the hard part. That was the fun part. The brainstorming part. The creative blast that soaked my computer screen with untapped, completely pure thoughts/characters/images/places and events.

 

Now the real work begins. A nasty little transition called Line Edits. This is where I take all my nicely squared pieces and patch them together. In a way that reads smoothly AND makes sense. If you understood my brain, you would see why this is not a good process for me. 

 

• It is frustrating.

• It is taking forever.

• I cry daily.

• I hate this manuscript.

  Most of the time I feel like a horrible wanna-be who can't. write.worth. a. damn. 

   

And yes, it is true. I did burn (a few) pages of my initial line edits because I. had. enough.    

 

Did not. OK, yes I did

 

A Quilter I Am Not--But I'm Learning 

 

 

I have friends who like to quilt. I'm talking those beautiful pieces of art that you can hang on a wall or in a museum or something. Those beauties that are much, much to meticulous and perfect to actually be used. These friends intimidate me because I have nary the skill or patience to complete such a long, long process.

 

Clearly, or I would have an easier time creating my novel. Though I don't quilt, I've come to think of this work in progress as a quilt of words. I made all the pieces-cut them just right so they fit nicely. I made sure all the colors and themes and shapes fit cohesively. Now, I use fine stitches to bind all those pieces together and watch the bits become a completed work of art. Once that is done, the artistic quilting will be applied--those finishing stitches that add a layer of beauty, depth and fullness to the quilt. 

 

I have until June 8th to draw my last stitch and show you, and myself, that something amazing can be created from a patchwork of pieces. A dream becomes tangible. Not to be placed in a frame on the wall, but held in your hand--cherished as that special something to chase the chill from the day or bring warmth to a space of nothingness.

 

Consider This a Quilting Bee

 

I'm not in this alone--luckily. If I were, the quilt would be a horrible, half-completed nightmare of loose threads and poorly cut fabric. Oh no. I've got my Betties, my quilting beauties to help me along. These are the critique partners and fellow writers, a cheering squad, to keep the stitching moving along. 

 

So, a big thank you to my writing Betties and hey, let's see if I can get this thing done, huh? You never know--I may be a better quilter than I thought possible. 

 

All the "quilt" pieces just waiting for a steady, stitching hand.

 

June 8th. Deadline. Got it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

This post has no real value, except to serve as an outlet for my impatience. Is it November yet? 'Cause I can't wait for the next NaNoWriMo!!

If you've participated before, I'd love to hear your experience. I've heard of several new writers getting out of the gate through NaNo exposure. Yay!

Do you NaNo?

Critique me, Baby!

One thing I really like about writing stuff is getting a good critique on what I've written. I don't have to like some of the honest answers that I get (yah, it stings a little when someone hates your work), but I tend to brush it off pretty quickly.

That being said, I'm having fun over at Authoress' blog 'cause I'm in one of her contests. It's the First Line Grabber contest, in which we aspiring authors submitted the very first line of our book-in-progress. The community members (you!) get to vote on your favorite submissions. Sunday morning, winners with the most votes will be announced and then its on to round two!

I'd love to be in round two. So far, I'm getting mixed reviews on my first line. More good than bad, and I'm getting some great perspective on what people can read into that one little line!!!!

Wanna vote? Come on over. I'm #18 and would love your input.

Inspiration: Part One

I first had the idea for my work-in-progress, 'Heat Rising', about eight years ago. I was sitting at a state conference on methamphetamine use in our state and how it had such a huge impact on children. Ironically, I had my first daughter with me, only two months old, contentedly sitting in her car seat as the presenter talked about the horrible abuses children were suffering at the hands of meth-addicted parents.

See, meth users don't just take one or two hits of the drug. No, they 'tweak' it constantly, always chasing the next big high. By tweaking, I mean they either consistently take a higher dose; a more frequent dose, or they combine meth with another drug, like cocaine, and take them together. Some tweakers mix more than one other drug with meth to create an entirely new substance. All in an effort to obtain a high unlike any they've had before.

The presenter told a story about a little boy who was looking forward to his classroom Halloween party. He was a kindergartner and this was the very first time he'd ever dressed up for Halloween (thanks to his meth-addicted parents). His teacher borrowed him a cow costume. He put it on the day of the party, sat out on the curb to wait for the bus. And waited...waited. Waited some more.

What he didn't know is that when the family had moved to a new apartment a week before, the parents never bothered to tell anyone. The bus driver didn't know they'd moved. No one at school knew. This little boy dressed in his cow costume every day for seven days, sitting each morning at the curb, patiently waiting all day for the bus to come. Finally a neighbor called police to report this unusual behavior. The police came.

Inside the family's apartment, they found the boy's mother had died. A four month old baby was in the crib, soiled, nearly starved to death and the father was no where to be found. The five year old boy had survived on bread and water. Pieces of bread were found in the 4-month old's crib; police think the little boy tried to feed her when she cried, but being so young, it was hard for her to manage.


The story idea hit me as I sat there, crying right along with the other 100 emergency medical technicians in that room. I thought, what kind of drug could be so worth it that you'd neglect your children and leave them to certain injury and death?

What kind of high were these people chasing? Just how strong was this addiction?

Fast forward two more years when I had the chance to visit an exhibit on Egyptians and their ancient myths and beliefs in magic. They craved immortality, in fact, went to great lengths to try and find a way to make the body and soul immortal. Embalming was one way; however, it lacked actual animation and life. Sure, you've got a leathery, wrapped up body that will last 1,000 years, but it can only lie there. In a sarcophagus. Like a dead body is want to do.

No, the Egyptians wanted more. They wanted life to remain in a body that wouldn't age and they sought it, greatly, through magic, potions, spells and pacts with their Gods. It didn't work.

That is, until I created a recipe combining ancient ingredients for immortality with highly potent modern day elicit drugs.

Oh, I combined them alright. And all hell broke loose, too.

Part two, coming soon.

Breaking the Slate

I have to admit, I'm not much for a clean slate. While I do like to mold something from nothing, I do so much better when there is already a little something started. I'm much more motivated if I think I've already started. I write the same way. I have notebooks, literally filled cover to cover, with ideas and names for characters and random scene sketches; I have no idea if these random things will ever amount to anything. But, they make great kick-starters for other writing projects! That's what this first, totally random, post is all about. It's a kick starter so I don't feel like I'm completely starting from scratch the next time I create a post. I've already been here; a mark has already been left. So there, blank Blogger blog. You have now been marked, dirtied, used, created on. The next time we meet, my post will be much more meaningful. Promise.