Since I signed with my publisher, I’ve been busy revising, re-writing and editing. They wanted to re-release all the books I self-published, so I was happy to give them a good polish, but now I’m wiped out and eager to write something new.
But I’m hesitating. Why? I love writing. Nothing else makes me happier. I’ve learned a lot from my editors, so much that I’m afraid I won’t be able to put together a sentence without ripping it apart and rewriting it over and over. I’ll never get anything written that way. Dammit! Why am I so scared?
My muse nudged me, a sly smile twisting his lips, and his sinful blue eyes sparkled. “Why do you write, darlin’?”
Many, many reasons, but the short answer is this: “Because you make me.”
“Then spend some time with me. I won’t bite.”
“Unless you want me to.” Wink.
*brain melts out my ears*
Ha. He’s right. I’ve been neglecting him. While working to make my current books shiny, I forgot to take time to do the one thing I do best: daydream.
So as soon as I get The Devil Made Me Do It sparkling, I’m going to take a short break and turn off my computer, close my eyes, and let my muse take me places only he and I know about. And then….
Oh! And then I’ll tear into Alex Sheridan and make his life a Twisted hell before I make him happy. I feel bad tormenting some characters, but I get a perverse pleasure torturing Alex. I know he can take it, and… he likes it.
I wrote that part ^ up there ^ a week ago. Since then, I put aside the revising and rewriting, and wrote a couple of shiny new trashy stories. I forgot how much fun that is, and it wasn’t too scary. They still need some polishing, but I’ll have them ready for my editor soon.
My muse has very little patience and when he bites, he leaves marks that linger. But I can take it, and… I like it.