Gah. I know.
So I'm sure it's no surprise to anyone that I haven't written in months. I tutored a bunch through the spring, read a crapload of novels, and let EN get as cold as The Husband's feet on a winter's night.
And then I did something naughty.
About a week ago, I was drifting off to sleep when a character tapped me politely on the shoulder, and asked if maybe I could start telling her story, since I clearly have nothing else going on at the moment. And the next morning, I plunged into a new novel. I've accumulated ~35 pages of character work and plotting ideas so far, and am feeling the giddy rush of the bright shiny new project.
I know. It's awful. You're not supposed to bail on your first novel for younger, prettier one just because the going gets a little tough. That's bad bad bad, and no way to actually finish a book. I should be ashamed of myself.
But I'm not. I'm having too much fun. Picture me with my fingers to my lips in a gesture of feigned scandalization, giggling over how incorrigible I am.
I'm calling the new project NP for now. Catchy, hm? It's a YA/SF that is arguably a prequel for EN... so it's not THAT bad to work on it? Right?
I'm thrilled you're writing--it's so hard to get back into it after a break! I'll try to forgive you for setting aside EN, though, since I'm really kind of dying to read it--meaning you have to finish it someday!
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