Countdown to Echo
As you can see by the countdown on the right – I have 27 days left to finish this draft of my novel.
There have been many changes to the story, so this draft includes brand new material along with removing a large section of the second draft. This is why I’ve enrolled in NaNoWriMo – National Novel Writing Month – with a goal of 50,000 new words by November 30!
I’m going to try to continue to post excerpts from the novel, photos from Azra’s collection, and possibly writing tips, here at KillerWriter.com. We shall see. I’m not promising anything for this month…other than to make it to 50,000 words and the completion of draft number 3 on the first book in the Echo Series!
We’re still enjoying rainy days here in Montana. It snowed yesterday. It was lovely, but it’s all gone now.
Writing in the Rain
I love to write.
I’ve learned to write everyday. I write on sunny days, snowy days, sick days. I write whether I’m in the mood to write or not. Fortunately, for me, I’m more often in the mood than not.
I love writing on rainy days. Today it’s raining outside.
This is what I feel like when I’m writing on a rainy day.
Baby Jana – Boulder, Colorado (possibly taken on a rainy day!)
My bookmark says “A professional writer is an amateur who didn’t quit.” – Richard Bach
She wasn’t breathing. Her skin felt like a cold, skinless chicken breast. I didn’t know what to do. I pushed on her chest a couple of times, then leaned my ear down to her mouth. I’d seen people do this on TV. I didn’t know if I should be trying to hear her breath or feel it on my ear. I pushed again, but it didn’t feel like I was helping, it felt like I was inflicting more pain. This time when I leaned in, I just stayed there.
“Mom.” I started to cry.
I wrapped my arms around her. That’s when I knew she was dead. There was nothing. No one. Life was gone from her broken body. I was freaked out, devastated, and then scared. I looked one last time at my mother’s face, and then I went to Ray. He was unconscious, naked on the floor. I couldn’t tell if he was dead, but I didn’t want to wait around to find out.
It’s September 29th and our backyard is blooming as though it was July 29th. It is bursting with tomatoes, pumpkins, carrots, flowers and my roses.
It’s a late bloom and it seems appropriate for everything else going on in my life.
I just spent the weekend at the Flathead Writers’ Conference in Kalispell, Montana, and I feel like the roses in my backyard. I’m bursting with joy and inspiration, not at all concerned that as a “woman of a certain age”, I am a late bloomer.
After years of sacrifice, leaving financially rewarding jobs, skipping out on family events, staying home to write instead of skiing with my handsome husband, I have reached a point where my writing reflects the years of education, research, and mentoring I’ve gone through to learn the craft of writing. I heard great feedback and encouragement this weekend and it was exactly what I needed when I needed it. I woke up this morning feeling incredibly grateful.
Now back to writing and finishing the book!