I’m a writer now.

Let's get this out of the way...I just called myself a "writer". This time, without the preluded tag of "aspiring". That's what I am now, a writer. For several hours of every weekday (and sometimes weekends), I write. I've written two novels and the first draft of a third. I've written over ten short stories, two... Continue Reading →

Write, Submit, Wait, Repeat.

I've been keeping a secret. Two weeks ago, I submitted my query letter to a publishing company, along with the required first three chapters of Fairview Infected. This novel will be pitched to a handful of other publishers as well, and the brutal truth is that it will—in all likelihood—be rejected. It's the inevitable outcome that I... Continue Reading →

It’s on my morning walk with the dogs. It’s in the sharp autumn air as it cuts into my lungs. It’s in the sunlight as it wavers through the branches and marbleizes the grass with splashes of gold. Inspiration flies from the wings of the birds against the blue sky, and seals an image in... Continue Reading →

Call me later. I’m plotting a murder.

November is National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo), and as a participant in the NaNoWriMo Challenge, I will be attempting to write the first draft of a novel (at least 50,000 words) in ONE month. "But it took you over a year to write the last one," my inner-critic says. "Live and learn," my inner dancing hippie replies.... Continue Reading →

Get out of my head

I've wrapped up my book and while it sits in the hands of my beta-readers for scrutiny, I've been trying to catch up on real-life responsibilities. What's daunting is that the hard work comes now that the book is written. Formatting the manuscript. Researching agents and publishers. Writing a query letter, a synopsis, and an author... Continue Reading →

The book that…

I wrote a novel in 2014-15. Nobody ever saw it (except the agent that rejected it), but I spent over a year of my life working on this piece of fiction that was loosely based on my teen years. Tearful emotions poured out of my soul and onto the keyboard, then popped up as 80,000 glorious... Continue Reading →

No Good

An email arrives from the literary journal that I submitted work to. Anticipation wraps around my chest like a boa constrictor, and holds its position. Don't get excited - I tell myself. But I do anyway. "Dear Red: We're sorry..." The rejection assaults my hard work, leaving me limp before my computer screen. The boa constrictor releases... Continue Reading →

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