My Main character is a naughty creature. So is Deepon. But there are things out there Naughtier. Badder. More powerful. More resourceful. Here, they are being reminded of that.


Something tickled along my ivories. In a spectacularly bad way.

Then I realized what it was. It was the old woman’s singing.

I didn’t know quite what she was, but with the inflections of her humming, she was weaving. Weaving music magic.

Something about the way the old woman spinned her notes gave rise to the notion in my mind of someone walking over my grave.

I knew Deepon felt it too. It was all over her face.

Then her singing, humming, weaving, suddenly stopped. Her head snapped right round, and she stared at us. And we both knew. She was not there by accident. She was there for us. Like previous others who’d made their presence known, she was there to send us a message. We both knew what it was, and it’d been driven home harder than a nail under a hammer.

The old woman stared at us for a long while.

Deepon and I headed home.


Interesting point of view…

Even if it doesn’t quite describe me. I don’t fly from project to project as she describes here, but, this describes where I’m at novel-wise, minus the “restless,” “painful” and the mind “betraying me”:-

When I begin working on a project, I am so passionate about it at the beginning – I write like the paper is on fire. Somewhere along the way it becomes a chore and then the hard work begins. The words don’t flow, I get restless, the writing becomes painful and then my mind betrays me.

This is the part where people will tell you writing’s work.

It is.

The rub starts where you have to keep from getting discouraged. You wanna know your stuff’s good. Solid. Worthwhile. Etc.

Then you wonder, doubt, wonder, get some words, doubt, put it down, pick it up, ponder plot, wonder about if you can finish the sonofabitch.

‘Skuze mah Francais.

(I may have inadvertently slipped some current info on my state of mind..)

I’d ask forgiveness, but this is my blog…. rite?

Just read “The Taming”…

So you’re banging your head against plot and story, hoping to bleed words, and then you read Kini Ibura Salaam’s “The Taming” and you wonder if you can do the same. Then you read that she says you probably can, someday…

I think we forget that we once crawled, stumbled, and fell when learning to walk. So when we see someone else soaring, we look up at them in awe, certain we could never do what they’re doing. Mastery is a game of repetition over time. Growth happens incrementally. Then one day, you look up and you are doing it. Actually doing what you couldn’t before.



I hear ya… preaching to the choir…

These words.

And THIS:-

…Because then the bad thoughts creep in: What if I can’t write it? What if I’m just not good enough/smart enough/fast enough/clever enough? Dumb. Messy. Wrong. Slow. Fraud. Hack.  

The bad thoughts are paralyzing. They lock up your thinking. And so much of writing is thinking. Thinking takes TIME…

Let me tell you, the bad thoughts paralyze. I run online to friends. They give me a shot in the arm, even as I might look about me and go, “…REALLY?…”

She continues:-

…They don’t tell you that you’ll be sitting in a restaurant smiling politely at your dinner companions nodding along as you pretend to listen while secretly asking yourself, “Does that thing I’m doing with the dog in Chapter Three really work?”…


…I can only try to be patient with myself, to remember how much I love writing and… that I am working on something that’s really challenging me and forcing me to push into unfamiliar territory as a writer, to adapt and grow and learn new skills. And that it feels really scary because it IS scary.

I only know not to stop swimming.

To know that yer not alone…

And to blast music. I had words today, as well, but to hear a published author say what I am myself going through is so heartening…