Waiting game

I’m doing my utmost to leave my manuscript alone for four weeks before beginning the re-read. (I have until mid-May before I have permission to read it again). I thought the break would be a good opportunity to work on short stories for award and magazine submissions, but I’ve been drawing a blank. There are ideas – illusive, hovering just out of reach – but they aren’t sturdy enough to carry a plot. Not yet, anyway.

I can’t tell if I’m procrastinating or if I’m taking a healthy break (my husband believes the latter, and I’m inclined to believe him). However as any writer can attest, any day spent not writing is usually shadowed by a feeling of shame. I’ve been practising the art of letting myself off the hook.

On reading

I’m back to regular reading (or trying to), with my latest library hold The Book of Witches by John Strahan, a global anthology exploring (you guessed it) the glorious witch, in all her forms.

In the last six months I’ve purchased many beautiful books which have gone straight to my bookshelf, and which I’m now determined to read. They include Impossible Creatures by Katherine Rundell, The Left Hand of Darkness by Ursula K. La Guin, A Thousand Ships by Natalie Haynes … and that’s barely scratching the surface. Other books waiting for me, which I’m determined to read this year, include The Sitter by Angela O’Keeffe, Queens of Animation by Nathalia Holt and After the Forest by Kell Woods. You get the picture. There are so many.

Archive

Lately I’ve been thinking about this blog. I’ve been writing here for nearly ten years. I think if I told my 2016 self that I would still be working on ‘the next book’ in 2024 (without a publishing contract), I would have been bitterly disappointed. I might have even considered giving up… but probably not. Maybe on a bad day. It’s easy to get discouraged along the way.

Back then, I thought of myself as a farmer, planting seeds that would one day grow and reward me. I had no idea that I wasn’t the farmer but the tree.

I have improved greatly as a writer in the last 8 years. I can see the marks of growth, the signals of success. My first writing prize, my writing group solidifying into firm friendships, seeing my name in print for the first time. If you’ll indulge my tree metaphor a little longer, I can feel it. Like a tree, my roots are networking farther, my skin is a little thicker, my branches reach a little higher. More than just skill, I’m willing to experiment, to let people read my work, to talk about writing but (better still) to sit down and write. I can both withstand the weather and use it to my advantage. I can stand on my own and be seen. I can say, ‘I’m an emerging writer,’ and leave my mask at the door.

When I look back, I understand why I didn’t have publishing success in 2016/2017/2018 (and how, without wishing to sound contemptuous, this was for the best). I can’t yet look ‘back’ on 2024, but I’m sure that when I am able to, today will fall into new context.

The softening of time will show my writing journey for what it is, hindsight and all. I’ll still be here. The tree that won’t stop growing.

From start to finish

This weekend I finished the latest version of my MG project. Completed from start to finish, and only 3k words over the goal. I’m quietly proud of myself for this manuscript, much less completing it (3+ drafts) in less than a year.

It was only May of last year that I was pitching my historical fiction manuscript to publishers and agents. I couldn’t have foreseen my next project, but I’m so glad I pursued it. This was a pure passion project. It provided a challenge, no question, but the desire to write was effortless.

It’s becoming clear to me that every project I complete draws me closer to the writer I want to be.

The short stuff

I’m delighted to say that Overland have selected one of my short stories for publication. It hasn’t been allocated an issue, yet. It should be published sometime within the year. Their wonderful fiction editor has already provided a pass over the work. I’ve never had a fiction editor read my work so closely before. A bucket-list moment, for sure.

There are a number of short fiction deadlines I hope to produce work for. From The Big Issue: Fiction Edition to Heroines Literary Journal, my goal is to produce at least two new stories for submission. I’m using my current break from my big project to focus on these stories, among other things.

Off the page

I turned 30 in late March (!!). I’ve been rounding up my age for 18 months to avoid the shock, but it’s still surreal to think I’ve broken into the new decade. My very thoughtful family and friends have all gotten me artistic gifts. I recently spent a voucher on a daylight lamp, watercolours, expensive Venetian paper, sepia ink, among other things… I have a true collection. So much that there is no room left on the shelf for excuses! Time to create!

My reading has taken a nose-dive as I furiously finished my MG project. To get back on the horse, I’m revisiting one of my favourite novels: Wuthering Heights. It’s just one of those books that get better every time I read it. What enchantment is this, Emily Bronte?

Photographer credit: Terry Roberts, sourced via Daily Mail.

I have bought expensive new running shoes (love) and will be moving my body more. Weights, running, maybe swimming and tennis if I can wrangle the logistics. I’ve spent a lot of time sitting at my desk. Exercise is sorely needed.

The long stuff

As mentioned above, I’m giving my MG project a break for a few weeks and will revisit the manuscript mid-May. I have sent it to a few trusted beta readers (who also happen to be exceptionally busy people). If they are able to provide feedback, I’ll be taking in their changes in May as well.

I expect I’ll produce at least two more drafts before I submit to agents. The goal remains to submit mid-year…!

Learning to celebrate the completion of things. If only I had Schmidt’s confidence.

Wish me luck with the next steps… I’ll revisit the blog when I have more news to share!

From the top

As promised, I completed the second draft of my MG project on the weekend. (Only a couple of days after my 1 March deadline.) I’m doing the readthrough currently. Some elements are strong – but overall, it needs work.

The current readthrough means copious notes as to where the manuscript has fallen short of my imagination, and moments in the plot that require problem-solving. It’s challenging. I’m mostly concerned about the opening 20 pages. These are, arguably, some of the most important in the whole piece.

The good news is, I’m getting closer to knowing what I want this manuscript to be. I suspect Draft 3 will be a greater deviation* (here, hoping, improvement*) than I saw between Draft 1 to 2. I have at least one beta reader keen to review Draft 3, and I don’t want to keep them waiting if I can help it.

Where inspiration comes from

I’ve been reading an eclectic selection lately, and each one has been useful. More of the familiar (Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince), and long-awaited library holds (Our Wives Under the Sea and Edgar Allan Poe), indulgent bookstore purchases (Jon Klassen’s The Skull) and publishing record-breakers (Skander and the Unicorn Thief).

Outside of books, I’ve been finding inspiration from music and film. Chiefly, the dynamic pairing of Danny Elfman and Tim Burton. I think what I like best about them, aside from the whimsy and the macabre and the secret soft-centres of these creators and their characters, is the fact that they know themselves so well. They have distinctive voices. They seem to enjoy what they do. I admire that very much. I hope to display the same conviction and chilling delight in my new project.

The remains of the month

March has become a busy, booked-out time. In a few weeks, my husband and I turn 30. We’ll be going away to the beachside to celebrate. It’s unrealistic to expect that I’ll have finished Draft 3 by then, but I’m aiming for the opening 50-60 pages to have had their problems (mostly) solved, and to be able to share these with a beta reader.

I have my heart and eyes set on April/May to finish this project. I think it’s possible, if I keep up the hard work and if I stay true to my vision. I know what it is I want, and though I’m not 100% certain how to get there, I’ll recognise it when I do.

2024

Happy new year. This is a brief check-in to say that I’m hard at work on Draft 2 of my magic, mystical, middle-grade project. I’m already halfway through it. I return to work this week so I expect I will start to slow down. The original goal was to finish by March, but I suspect (at this rate) a February finish is just as likely.

Fewer goals

Usually I overwhelm myself with projects at the start of a new year. Losing weight is always in the mix, a writing project is an ever-present affair. Maybe a big trip booked, or several small ones. The last few years have seen some pretty major life events, including getting married and buying a house. This year, I think I’d like to reduce my expectations. I’m quite content to pay my bills and save my pennies in 2024, all the while working on my new writing project.

The next step

I’m going to get back into art in 2024. I’m aiming to do it in a pressure-free way. I haven’t been practising much, so the pressure-free intentions aren’t holding very fast. (It’s a lot of internal criticism at the moment, a lot of, what happened? You used to be better than this, right?)

But art can (and should) be therapeutic. So I’m working on that, and getting my art cupboard in order. Tools that are sealed and packed into storage will never be used. I need to see my brushes and nibs to remember to actually use them.

Nostalgia

I’ve started 2024 going through my childhood bedroom at my parents’ house. As always, it’s a bigger job than I expected. The room itself is tidy, a psuedo-spare-nursery for my baby niece. It’s the cupboards that are chock full of memories (the good, the bad, and the mouldy).

It’s an emotional thing, and rather transporting, to go through all your old memories. Things you thought were worth keeping at the time now resemble trash, while scraps of paper and old birthday cards suddenly take on a whole new level of importance.

I found an old paper lunch bag written back-to-front with my 2017 novel-in-progress, back when I worked in the city and I forgot my notebook one day. I had been so inspired, I kept writing anyway, using whatever I had to hand. Some things never change.

Then there are the manuscript drafts …

I kept so many manuscript copies. I forgot just how many, and I forgot how I couldn’t bring myself to throw them away at the time. They were a symbol of all my hard work! How could I toss them out? What if there was a gem among the (many thousands of) pages?

Even though the countless copies and mark-ups of old manuscripts never became polished, published beings, I’m still very proud of my old self. My old, highly self-conscious, lacking-in-self-esteem-self. I had no idea what I was in for, but I persisted anyway. Even when it was tough … especially when it was tough. It’s led me to who I am right now.

My first novel was a five year project, and it never quite got off the ground. How much I hoarded was a true indication of my mental health at the time. I’m pleased to say that the idea of tossing it out these days is one of great relish.

Every page helped me become a better writer. My skills, now, these are the true emblem of my years of hard work. Not the paper itself. The old manuscripts are taking up room. More than that, they’re a strange sort of mental burden. They cling to the old, sad memory of what never was.

I’m going to use an incinerator for my old drafts. (Don’t worry, digital copies tucked into USBs and Clouds will always remain). The truth is, I can’t wait to do it. It’ll be cathartic. It’ll be a truly freeing experience.

Next time…

I’ll check in again when Draft 2 is done, or maybe even after that, when I’ve had the chance to take stock and reread. I’m feeling like a new chapter in my creative life is just beginning. Chains are snapping, cracks of light are forming. I’m stronger than ever before.

Going with a Schitt’s Creek theme in GIFs today and always.

A whole book.

As promised, I’m back in November and with all 65k words of my latest first draft. It’s a manuscript entirely made up of half-finished thoughts and too many sentences, characters that deviate or appear from nowhere or vanish again. Some sections of the book know themselves, from start to fin, while others are still finding their feet. It’s a draft for my eyes only, and it’s done: completed just over a week ago, two weeks ahead of schedule.

A bit of inspiration | Woodland photography by GJ Duncan Photography

I’ve written up a one year plan (October to October) if it’s not too ambitious to share. It includes a minimum of four drafts and two opportunities for beta readers to feed in. What can I say? If there’s one thing I like more than a list, it’s a calendar.

The plan now

I’m taking a break from the manuscript, which has been harder than I thought it would be. I’m itching to get back into things. Until early/mid December, my plans are to swim, draw, attend a friend’s wedding and catch up on my 2023 reading goal.

My adult fiction manuscript is still floating out there in the submission world, loitering in inboxes. I’ve had some genuine interest in it, but nothing I can or ought to share here. Not yet, anyway.

Feeling inspired

As mentioned above, I’m getting back into my drawing. I’m out of practise and somewhat vicious in my self-criticism when it comes to art. I’m so much more lenient and productive when it comes to writing. I hope it’s just a matter of practise, but at present, I’m trying to figure out my style – something artists spend their whole careers doing.

I took a long break from drawing after university. Around that time, I think I was at my lowest, in terms of both self-esteem and creativity. Writing helped me out of it, but I sort of left drawing behind. Now whenever I pick up a pencil (for shapes, not words), my inner critic prevents me from enjoying the process.

The key thing I’m learning now, ten years after graduating from university (I can’t believe it… ten years?!) is that the goal isn’t to create art that’s just like everyone else’s. It’s to find the joy. There will be no glorious output if I’m not enjoying myself.

Cartoon Saloon’s Wolfwalkers (2020)

A major source of inspiration, lately, has been Cartoon Saloon’s animated feature film, Wolfwalkers. It has the perfect blend of precision and emotion, geometric shapes and rough-hewn hand drawn style. In a way, I think it’s given me permission to embrace personality in my art, embrace that scribbly, hand-drawn effect that I love in other people’s work. It’s an absolutely stunning film, if you haven’t seen it already.

It’s beginning to look a lot like …

I’m sure I’ll be back before Christmas, but if not, happy holidays. For me, in my personal life, this is an exciting and creative time. Outside of myself, the news is both riddled and heavy with war and the cost of living crisis. It makes my chest tight to think about it, to be honest. I try to dabble in ways that have a positive impact, but it’s easy to feel helpless. Being creative, I think, is the only way to loosen that knot in my chest.

Until next time …

A few days shy of October

It’s a beautiful and busy time of year, right now. The sky is clear and the breeze is cool and the days are heating up. Friends are having baby showers, getting married, hosting hens and bucks parties. There are birthdays, anniversaries, milestones. Work projects are reaching crescendo, with jam-packed days and long-awaited tasks being ticked off lists.

All in all, it’s a pleasant and inspired time on a personal level, if the outer world seems fraught and crumbling. But to think of it all is too much. It has the power to taint the personal triumphs in our lives. Call it putting your head in the sand (in a way, I wish that were true)*. I call it dividing and conquering. Right now, I’m placing my head and heart with my family and friends. The news headlines and politics and referendums and global catastrophes and undying social media scroll isn’t going anywhere. But these hours are.

_{*Amendment 26/10/2023. Since I first wrote and posted this, the war in Gaza has utterly erupted. When I say ‘head in the sand’, I did not intend or expect to refer to this utterly devastating series of events. Thousands of innocent lives have been lost, and while my scrambled-egg blog about writing is not the forum for political discussion, it felt cold and strange not to acknowledge the devastation.}

Buried in books

I’ve been reading a lot lately (at least, a lot more than in recent years). Some highlights have been my own personal discovery of Neil Gaiman (shock and horror, I know). I knew he existed, and I’d seen some of the adaptations of his work, but I finally got around to reading. It started with Stardust. I’m halfway through his collected fiction (a definitive doorstopper if there ever was one), which I started in company with his MasterClass (I’ve already mentioned it, but I can’t recommend it enough). The Graveyard Book is a gem and a new all-time favourite, doubling as a germ of inspiration for my new writing project. Neil also re-introduced me to short fiction, showing me what it is capable of. What a teacher. I’m a forever fan now, I suspect.

Epic and savage though they are, with the occasional flair bordering on melodramatic, is the Red Rising trilogy (I’m only halfway through the second book, no spoilers, please!) Pierce Brown is a really superb storyteller. I never understood the term ‘space opera’, but I do now.

The House in the Cerulean Sea, The House with Chicken Legs, The Grandest House Bookshop In the World are beautiful books (TJ Klune, Sophie Anderson and Amelia Mellor, respectively). I’m still thinking about Gabrielle Zevin’s Tomorrow, and Tomorrow, and Tomorrow.

Reading has been like taking my brain to the gym, or on long walks, or for swims in the sea. It feels good. Which is a plus, because my poor body has been neglected similar treatment. (To be remedied, now that school holidays are nearly over and summer is nearly ready).

Under an enchantment of my own design

I’m currently enjoying the daydreaming wonder that is the first draft of my new project. Naturally, I jump between feeling inspired and feeling totally useless. I have enough experience to know that’s normal.

Beyond the word-count spreadsheets and soundtrack making and image pinboarding (real and virtual), and all other manner of creative procrastination, I’m slowly cobbling together the first words. I’m at a stage where I needn’t put too much importance on the words themselves. I need only ensure they exist, somehow, somewhere, on paper or on screen.

My greatest hurdle – that which causes me to stop, fingers suspended above the keys – is keeping the stories interesting. I’m pretty sure they’re interesting. I have no idea. I’ve requested countless books from the library that are in a similar vein, hoping to learn by osmosis. I sense that the only real way I will learn anything is by finishing the first draft. So that’s what I plan on doing.

I have recently acquired some particularly talented children’s book writing friends (who are willing to read early drafts). It is at once fortuitous, frightening, and incredibly motivating. Mostly the latter. The sooner I create draft 1 (and the sooner I edit draft 1 to be draft 2, so that it’s legible for human consumption), the sooner I will be able to figure out what needs to happen to make it more interesting /more curious /more scary /more better /better /better.

“The process of doing your second draft is a process of making it look like you knew what you were doing all along.”

Neil Gaiman

It wouldn’t be a post without a goal

As above. I’m working toward 1,000 words a day until I reach around 65,000 words. A rather long middle grade (and I suspect that it will come out even longer, ripe for the editor’s knife). So far I haven’t been very consistent with my words (but my brain hasn’t stopped racing, which counts… right?). Nonetheless, I feel like I’ll catch up. Just watch me.

I’ll be back in November, to report in. By then I should will have a completed first draft: my roadmap, to lead me on.

All cylinders, go.

After completing a couple more short stories (and with other ones burning in the back of my mind) I finally feel ready to start in earnest on a new ‘big’ project. The concept is many miles away from what I expected to be working on, when I finished my novel. I think if I told myself in May that this would be my next project, I’d hardly believe it.

Artwork by Aron Wiesenfeld

A new kind of story

I won’t say much, except that my new characters have appeared – not fully-formed – but fierce. I couldn’t get them out of my head quickly enough. This project requires me to embrace my imagination, dance with it till my feet are sore. I need all creative cylinders firing, and then some. It’s freeing, and frightening (in the best possible way).

Since I understand that it must be for younger readers, it also requires me to be more honest than I have really allowed myself to be before. Hopefully this translates well on the page, but we’ll see.

Gif by Alexandra Dvornikova

Onwards

I hope to have a substantial draft finished by October. Initially, the ultimate deadline was the Text Prize (approximately February 2024). Something about this concept holds a lot of promise, though. I think it may need more of my time than that, and I’m keen to trust this instinct.

Can’t stop now.

This is a quick check-in, with lots of numbers.

I’ve made six original submissions in the last three months. Two of the stories were first drafted in 2022, four of the stories are brand new and vary from a 250-word flash fiction to a 10k fantasy short story. One of the six submissions (a 3k-word historical fiction that I am very fond of) was longlisted for a writing prize out of nearly 700 entries. I have four more ideas up my sleeve, with deadlines looming. I hope to make at least ten original submissions between May and October.

I don’t know yet if any of the submissions are wins or shortlists, or whether they will be accepted for publication. I’m too busy on the next project to stop and wonder. Even so, I wanted to pause and recognise the work so far. Each submission has made me a stronger writer. I can’t remember the last time I’ve felt this inspired, and I wouldn’t mind basking in it for a little while.

I’ll check in again once I knock out the next couple of short stories (and one poem). I have a new long-form project I’m really excited to sink into, with a deadline of February 2024.

More, soon.

PS. I finished Neil Gaiman’s online MasterClass while reading his collected short fiction. I can’t recommend both enough. If you’re wanting to share in the rush of productivity I’m experiencing, start with Gaiman.

A new adventure on the page

The seasons are cooling, the layers are layering. My partner and I bought a house, and I don’t care at all that there’s no floor insulation. Let my feet be blue, this is our very own floor. It can do no wrong.

Book update

Nothing to report here, except that I have received a few rejections and even more silence from agents. Naturally, I’ve cast my net further afield. One request for a full manuscript which eventuated into a polite, everything-you-could-hope-for-in-a-rejection, was surprisingly demoralising. It managed to give me that all-too-terrible feeling of “what am I doing with myself?”

I’ve heard experienced writers say that rejection, failure, all those gut-punches, make you a better artist. I believe it, now more than ever. Rejection really forces you to question why you write. It asks, are you sure this is what you want? And you say, yes, I’m sure. And then it says, alright, here goes. Gut punch.

But you get back up again. Eventually. Maybe we enjoy the cool floor for a while, feel sorry for ourselves, just a little bit, if it helps. I know now that if you find that you really can’t bring yourself to get back up again, that’s good news. It means you can move on. You can spend your precious energy on other things.

I guess there may be something masochist about the writer who gets back up again. Let’s not pick at that thread. Because here I am, back on my feet. I’m writing short fiction, I’m actually enjoying myself, and I’m ready for the next throw.

Podcastin’

I recently listened to Episode 228 of the Writers of the Future podcast, in which writer Dave Henrickson (winner of the 2023 Golden Pen) explained how he stopped referring to rejections as ‘rejections’ but as ‘returns’. Your work is being returned to you, because there’s no place for it in this publication/stable/shortlist. It doesn’t mean you’re a terrible writer, or unworthy, and it’s certainly not personal.

I like that. Returns. I’d like to adopt ‘returns’ over ‘rejections’. Give me a few months (years?) to rewire my brain on that one.

I wish someone had told me earlier what a writer’s journey really looks like. That wins aren’t the destination at which you stop, and rejections (returns) aren’t branches along the road to be ducked or jumped over. Wins and returns are braided together. They are the road itself. It’s all part of it.

Anyway, enough of that unsolicited advice from a yet-unpublished author.

The new stuff

I’ve started writing genre fiction, as a break from pitching my historical/gothic/accessible-literary novel. What started as a distraction has revealed itself to be a joy. I liberated myself from what I thought I should be writing, and instead just allowed myself to go with it. Turns out I have a lot of ideas.

What’s even better, I’m a total nerd. I’m genuinely having fun. I don’t know why I haven’t let myself explore genre before now. Self-inflicted snobbery? Maybe.

The curious part

What I didn’t expect to happen, after playing with genre and short fiction, is the sudden disconnect I feel from my original work. To the point that I’m almost embarrassed to return to it. It’s hard to know if it’s intuition, telling me to let it go, or if it’s fear of further rejection. I’m going to go with the latter. I know myself pretty well by now.

Even though a small part of me wants to tuck the manuscript in a bottom drawer with its handful of rejections returns, I owe it to myself, and to four years’ worth of work, and to Sue, and to my characters, to keep pitching my novel. I’ve got to exhaust every avenue, try every prize.

And the best part is, I don’t have to wait to explore new ideas, new stories. I’m already doing it.

Look who’s back…

 A wizard is never late, and nor are my blog posts. They arrive precisely when they mean to.

A lot of life has happened since I last posted an entry—a lot seems to be happening right now, too. My partner and I moved house, we got married last year, and we endured record-breaking floods (though one of our cars, blessed be, did not). We bought a kitten, Obi, who is as plump, curious, precocious and endearing as one expects of British Shorthairs, while still bearing his unique and gentle personality. He brings us joy every day. We wrangled work and family responsibilities, travelled overseas, made new friends. I lost a dear one.

Obi

In news that deserved its own blog post, I had my first win and my first piece of fiction published. In June 2022, my flash fiction Between was awarded second place in the 21st International Bath Flash Fiction award, with a very gorgeously written judges report from writer Tommy Dean to go with it. In February 2023, my short story Song of the Spear was published in Aurealis Magazine Issue #157. As described by the mag, the story is ‘a tightly braided historical fantasy inspired by Norse and Celtic mythologies.’

My novel! I began work on this one in late 2019. The spark of this story endured the creative snuff that was 2020. It remained on my mind when it was, regrettably, placed on the backburner during a chaotic 2021. I worked devotedly in 2022 and now, as of March of 2023, it stands complete! About 9 drafts, one creative writing course and thousands of words cropped, later.  

This was, did I mention, my ‘easy’ novel idea. While standing on the windswept Wynnum esplanade in October of 2019, I thought, let’s work on something I can knock over in twelve months. The following twelve months (and more) gave us everything they had.

I’m very proud of where I am today. There were countless times during this manuscript where I could only look ahead one page at a time. The idea of finishing the whole thing seemed absurd, impossible. But here we are.

I have many great writing friends. Most of them write in genres or in spaces that are different to mine. My dear writing friend, Sue Goldstiver, volunteered to be my mentor some years ago. She could see what I was trying to create and she had so much faith in my ability as a writer. My low self-esteem and imposter syndrome drove her up the wall. She would read my novel in pieces, give feedback. Always honest, always enthusiastic. Sue passed away suddenly in August of 2022. It took a long time to sink in, striking me unawares for months — it still creeps up on me, even now. Nobody has quite filled her shoes, both as a writing mentor and a friend. Her passing lit a fire underneath me. Nobody was going to finish my book except me. Nobody could make that happen. Sue believed in me — and she’d have been bloody peeved if she knew I gave up on the idea. I knew I had to use the time I have left to do what I love—to write.

Sue was intelligent, thoughtful. A devoted daughter, wife, mother. She had a biting wit, a wicked sense of humour, and was the biggest advocate for everyone in my writing group. She was a talented writer, as well. She was turning her hand to thrillers and crime fiction for the first time, and she would have been bloody good at it.

Sue (right) and I

What’s next for my writing? I’ve submitted the manuscript to a small handful of literary agents. I’ll keep working through agent submissions in batches. I’ll keep the blog updated with any eventualities and future plans for this Australian Gothic manuscript.

For the immediate future, I plan on reading—a lot. So many books to catch up on. I’m working on a novella as part of an anthology with my writing friends. It’s a genre I don’t usually write in, but I’m excited to try my hand at it. It should be a fun project—think Christmas, New York, young love.

While my current manuscript is on submission, I’ll start researching my new book. I have many ideas—almost too many. Where to begin? Where to devote the next few years of my writing life? The golden age of piracy? An omniscient manor house in regency England? A widow in plague-affected Europe? Bohemian Paris? And this, and this, and this…?

I’m grateful to have reached this point. Deciding on the next story is a splendid ‘issue’ to have. I think Sue would be proud.

I promise not to keep my blog in such long suspense, next time. For now, onward!