It’s been so long since I posted anything here, I wasn’t even sure I’d remember my password!
I am delighted…no thrilled…no ecstatic…no, jumping up and down for joy to report that I have finally finished writing my May 2006 Superromance, tentatively titled Her Secret Family and unofficially known as The Book That Would Not Be Written! Okay, it’s really unofficially known as something much worse, but I don’t want to offend any readers by telling you what I’ve really been calling it in the past few weeks.
(Note from 2016: Um. Yeah. I was still two weeks late for my extended deadline. Little did I know at that point, but things were going to get much, much worse before they began to get better.)
The good news is that even though I’m very sure my editor will want revisions (and even if she doesn’t, I do) and those revisions are due just 2 weeks from now, I finally think I can turn this book into something good.
I go through a kind of hopeless stage with every book I write. There’s always a place where all those pages feel like a bunch of mismatched dreck about absolutely nothing, with no conflict, no character goals, no characterization at all. The writing sucks. It jerks, and jolts, and starts, and stops, and has about as much grace and flow and rhythm as I do when my knees ache.
Even though I’ve pushed past that point with all 20-something books and come out on the other side, I’m always desperately afraid that this time it’s real. That this time, there’s no way to fix the book. No way at all.
With The Book That Would Not Be Written, that stage lasted for most of the book’s creation. It is not a pleasant place to be!
But now it’s done and I am going to spend one whole day catching up on my sleep. Or my reading.