Books are like my babies. I guide, mold and offer my input through the publication process, then release them into the world. And then I miss them. Their day to day development, the late nights, and even frustrations are...gone. So, I start again. (No, I am not having any more kids. Five is plenty. I'm talking about books.)
Funny thing is, unlike my children, I don't have complete control over the characters in my books. The main characters seem to take over while I write and I end up watching a seed of an idea grow from conception to full maturity. With some books, conception is a contest, others a request from a publisher to make a single title a series, but one is very different. Jewel of Ramstone, a medieval romance, was inspired by a nightmare...then developed into a wonderful dream.
Sometime ideas get tucked into a "work in progress" folder, just waiting for me to infuse life giving words to the snippets of conversation I wrote down, or incomplete thoughts. They end up unfinished because I either had to tend to edits on a contracted manuscript, or because life simply got in the way. Just the same, those seeds of a story haunt me. They bounce around my mind like a sugar infused child.
Sometime ideas get tucked into a "work in progress" folder, just waiting for me to infuse life giving words to the snippets of conversation I wrote down, or incomplete thoughts. They end up unfinished because I either had to tend to edits on a contracted manuscript, or because life simply got in the way. Just the same, those seeds of a story haunt me. They bounce around my mind like a sugar infused child.








