Saturday, December 26, 2015


I signed up for NaNoWriMo last Month. November was National novel writing month. Although, for me, it was mostly just a month to stuff my face. I didn't stuff any more words onto the pages of my novel than usual. But I'm still plugging along. The creative sparks are simmering in the pot like fragrant turkey bones. It smells really good to me. I can't wait till it's finished and I can enjoy the soup. But to a vegetarian, it might just plain stink!

Novels aren’t written by muses who come down through the ceiling and shoot magic through your fingers and out onto your laptop’s keyboard. Before NaNoWriMo, some teensy part of me still believed that because writing is a creative act, it should feel easy. But fairies don’t write novels. They’re written with one simple equation:
Time + Work = Novel  Stephanie Perkins providing inspiration over at National Novel Writing Month 
So I joined NaNoWriMo and really didn't do a darn thing with it. Except for two things. I uploaded an excerpt. That was easy enough. The second thing I attempted with great difficulty. I wrote a blurb. The first, unedited draft of a blurb.  I'm not sure why encapsulating my story is such a difficult task. But here it is... 

Oren Walton is a farmer. He has worked the land of his birth for his entire life and persevered through

unthinkable loss, never losing his innate sense of humor. Now, he has Parkinson's. A disease that is

 pushing his good nature to the limit of human comprehension. He's hallucinating. Or, at least that is

 what his daughter Sedona and Lady Friend Lavinia are trying to persuade him to accept. He doesn't

 believe it. And after Oren finds love with a mysterious newcomer, he doesn't want to believe it. But

one thing is certain for everyone that loves Oren. The conflict these hallucinations create and the

 mystery that surrounds them will never be forgotten.

Keep writing until you reach the end. If you get stuck, take your protagonist down a different path. This isn’t the draft that you’re going to publish. This is the draft that will help you figure out what story you’re really trying to tell. Stephanie Perkins

An unedited excerpt from The Chorus of the Crows...
Oren stared at the man in the mirror. The hazel eyes of his youth were starting to brim with the soggy

 look of an old man. His thick black hair had turned silver long ago. But still remained a steadfast

source of pride The lines underneath his brow ran deep. They were like a time line revealing each

summer of plowing, every turn of the earth and all the hard work of harvest time.  Despite that, to his  

chagrin, the ladies at church always said he just got more handsome with every passing day. That  

 always made him blush. Oren picked up Amelie’s antique horse hair brush and ran it through his hair, 

front to back, always shaking.  When he was done he held the old brush in mid-air and time seemed to 

stop for a  moment, then he placed it reverently back on the dressing table.  It had been so hard to  

fasten all the little white buttons on his shirt; he put on his favorite tonight, the dark green linen; washed

 and pressed by Lavinia of course. Shoot, there goes another pang. Oren shook his head and

proceeded to gingerly step into a clean pair of bib overalls. He had to sit down on the bed half way 

through the process. It was either that or fall down. And he preferred the former. After he snapped the

last buckle, he slapped his hands on his knees and finally spoke, “Well, I reckon I’m spiffed up about 

mighty nice by now. I sure hope that sweet young gal is a waiting on me like she said.” Oren pushed

 himself up and walked out into the dining room and through the kitchen to the front door. He switched 

on the mudroom light and let the screen door slap behind him. “I expect it might be a late night,” he

said. Then he slowly made his way to the R.V.

Happy New Year fiction readers and writers!

Be sure to fly back to the Chorus of the Crows on January 30th for my first post of 2016.

Saturday, December 19, 2015

The Christmas Card

The Christmas card.

The holiday letter. Ho hum.

I was wondering what to write about in a post that clings to the calendar from December 19 - December 26th. Hmmm. Well, it's Christmas. Fa, la, la and holiday hoop-la. Everyone will put their smart phones down, and instead of posting a text, they will post a heart felt holiday letter and card. The old fashioned way. Right? Wrong. 

The infamous Christmas card is getting dropped faster than Santa's reindeer hitting severe sky turbulence. The poor deer's. I blame the government. And their scrooge stamps. Or, as the younger generation must think of them, useless, old fashioned and expensive adhesive paper. We used to have to offer up our DNA just to get one to stick. Now that the tech is tongueless, nobody uses them. I barely had a chance to savor the taste of tongueless technology before it was all over. I guess I'll have to settle for hot, buttered rum.

Have you seen the illustration on pinterest or facebook where Santa's reindeer have to go number two? Really bad. While they're on duty. They all have to poo. All at the same time! Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, Vixen, Comet, Cupid, Donner, Blitzen and of course Rudolph. All spew poo. Poor Santa. His suit will probably need to be dry cleaned. But the worst part of all is that all of our future gifts and Christmas cards end up looking like the inside of a sky shitter. It's hilarious. That might also explain the lack of cards this holiday season. They could still be drying out up in Alaska.  

That's why I attached my Holiday card in this post. It's cheaper, easier and much more sanitary. I really hate that the internet is faster than Santa. I miss the good old days. But at least I still have rum. Appleton, Flor de Cana, Siesta Key and good old Bacardi. 

Here's a Christmas funny I ran across on the internet...

OK. Here’s a Christmas Challenge: Name all 10 of Santa’s Reindeer. The answer is in the extended entry...
Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, Vixen, Comet, Cupid, Donner and Blitzen (that’s 8)
Rudolph (9)
Olive the Reindeer. Don’t remember Olive? Of course you do, sing the song:  "…Olive, the other reindeer, used to laugh and call him names, they never let poor Rudolph join in any Reindeer games.”

Posted by Gruntdoc

My fingers are crossed for some last minute sanitary snail mail. Merry Christmas fiction readers and writers!

Saturday, December 12, 2015

The Pitcher

I don't know anything about baseball, but bad pitches tickle my funny bone. I'm talking about literary pitches. I recently found a blog that has plenty of game in the pitch department. I ran across Ask the Agent - Night Thoughts about Books and Publishing  Well, I don't care when the secret agent does his best power thinking. Although, it sounds like he's a night owl. All I care about is that Andy Ross is an agent. An agent must have something useful to say, right? 

Andy Ross seems like he has a sense of humor. And from what I've learned so far about the difficulties of getting a book published, an aspiring writer must have a sense of humor. Or we'd end up sitting in a straight jacket staring at 4 walls covered from baseboards to popcorn ceiling in rejection letters. Andy humorously wrote in the above link about bad pitches in acquiring a literary agent. Just for fun, I created my own list. You can be the judge of whether these 4 forgotten book pitches are good or bad... 

1) This is an educational, non-fiction novel about 101 things you can do with cat fur. This is no filament of my imagination. But a thoroughly researched compilation of crafty follicle facts. The millions of potential readers (most of whom already own cats) will acquire new knowledge in what to do with the age old dilemma of cat fur disposal. Did you know that you can throw cat fur into the wind and a local bird might use it to feather their nest? I bet not. And there are 100 more where that came from. 

2)  This is a real pot boiler. Literally. After watching the movie Fatal Attraction, I was inspired to expand the current repertoire of well known things you can boil in a pot. It is a dark comedy. But could also be considered a cross genre in the foodie category. Eating local is so been there, done that. Boring! My book will explore eating everything you can find in your own backyard. Or your neighbors. And then some. 

3) This is a work place tell all to end all. A cubicle tradgicomedy that does not easily fit into the box. It is an Office Space meets Boxing Helena. A Revenge of the Nerds meets Horrible Bosses. A satire of a romance of a tragedy. This novel will bubble up around water coolers all over the world. It will be relate-able to the typical office drone, but with its cross genre possibilities, sales will blast through the roof! I've already sold the film rights to Hollywood. It will open on Casual Friday the 13th.

4) This is a Miss Piggy meets Christian Grey kind of story. A chocolate covered bacon yarn of epic proportions. A cross genre of erotic literature, romance and food porn. There has never been another novel like it! Famous Dave has already agreed to sell copies in select restaurants. But I don't want to seem like a complete ham about it. Readers will literally pig out on my book!

Got extra time on your hands? Grab a martian, (a martini to Jack in The Shining) take a seat at the bar and read my review of On Writing by Stephen King

Friday, December 4, 2015

The Color Purple

"Up close, he was almost purple." Pam Jones from Bridget Jones Diary. 

This is such a simple line from the movie. But it inspired a running joke between me and my husband. For years! Pam Jones was referring to her paramour. A colorful, make up challenged T.V. personality. Well, around the same time as the first Bridget Jones movie, (I still haven't read the book) there was a local T.V. evangelist appearing on commercials. And he was orange. I'm assuming it was a spray tanning malfunction. Thank goodness for small miracles of giddy joy. After that, any evangelist that had the misfortune of crossing our T.V. screen was always curiously purple. At least my husband thought so. 

The funny thing is, Mr. Orange, A.K.A. Mac Hammond is back on the air. There was a fleecing of the flock scandal surrounding him around the year 2007. Mac was smacked by the hand of the media. I don't know if he was ashamed, but he probably turned a ghostly shade of white over that one. Now, he's back in action. He can be seen locally around 6:55 am on CBS. Ironically, I've been watching and listening with open ears. As it turns out, one of the characters in my novel is a Methodist minister. So when I saw a familiar super charged tan man grace the air waves again, I tuned in. I listened. And what he had to say was actually pretty inspirational. Go figure. Go Mac Daddy!

When I inserted one of Mac's quotes into a previous The Chorus of the Crows post my husband couldn't believe it. I think he thought I was one step away from joining a cult. Or was experiencing temporary insanity. Neither of us are church goers. Well, I never shoot the messenger. It's research, right?  

I'll end this entry with a favorite literary line about color... 

"It can't be denied your hair is a terrible red; but I knew a girl once-went to school with her, in fact-whose hair was every mite as red as yours when she was young, but when she grew up it darkened to a real handsome auburn." Mrs Lynde from Anne of Green Gables by L.M. Montgomery

Don't get lost. Be sure to navigate over to Springtime in Magnolia for my review of the wayward book, Where'd You Go Bernadette.

Saturday, November 28, 2015

Dangerous Minds

I recently stumbled across the link, The four hidden dangers of writing groups I've been trying to absorb all writing resources like a nasty old kitchen sponge, so of course I read this ominous link. At the moment, I'm reading, The Elements of Style by William Strunk. Stephen King highly recommended it in his book On Writing. Good one Steve. I'm convinced Stephen King was playing a cruel joke on us writers when he recommended this tortuous mini tome. Actually, it's a very helpful book on punctuation and grammar. And heck, that's my achilles's heel. But can't you just picture Stephen King cackling with demonic flair as he added that resource to his book? I can. He has a devious mind. Of course, that's what I like about him too.

I thought I'd have a little fun. Here's what I think the 4 hidden dangers of writing groups are based on my experience. 

1) Those that can't, teach. There's always those people in the group that really sound like they know what they're talking about. Qualified? Hell yes. They sound like they went to writing school on a space ship culled with gifted humans. The little green martians with brains the size of watermelons beamed them up for class at 8 am earth time. They went to Celestial school for around 100 years. (The equivalent of 1 martian year) And then were let loose to wander among writers and us dumb folk. Well, these know it alls don't always know how to write! Go figure.

2) The player. This guy is a writer. Well, he's written something or other. That's all that can really be proven. It could be a shopping list or a note to self.  But he's really more interested in dating a writer. Or a woman that's breathing and can lend him a pencil. 

3) The absentee. They sign up for group with no intention of ever going. They might feel the pressure of a real life meet up will give them the kick in the ass they need to put pen to paper. But then they get a hot date. Or they decide to watch Homeland. Or they think their Schwan's frozen dinner will get cold. I don't know why they are no shows. But it's fun to imagine why.

4) The retired teacher. These people are bored. They may be able to write. I'll give them that. But their real purpose of attending group is they need to fix, teach or torture somebody. And with a blood red pen, they'll give you a critique alright. They'll skin you alive! They might even rewrite your whole piece. Just because boring is better. A note to creative challenged retired teachers of the world. Boring is for William Strunk books!

Saturday, November 21, 2015

Fear Follows

We watched the movie It Follows on Halloween.

Creepy, unsettling and intelligently bare bones, this horror gem from David Robert Mitchell will be the scariest thing you'll watch all year.
Sean O'Connell

It was the perfect choice. Scary shows can be well written. Just look at American Horror Story. I think it is masterpiece of a show. If my future book ever gets made into a movie, I want those guys to produce it. 

On October 31st, being scared is a right of passage. Some of us partake with graveyard gusto. Have you ever been to the Haunted Basement at the Soap Factory in Minneapolis? It's scary as Hell. They have a safe word. That's how bad it is. 

Fear is a fact of life. Most of us discover that at an early age when one of our friends startles us in the black of night. Usually on an innocent sleep over. It's all fun and games. And hopefully no one wets their pajamas. Later in life, dark tales around a camp fire put goose bumps on top of goose bumps. Because our ass is freezing while our feet are burning up! Suddenly, the crunch of a leaf does not emanate from the friendly footsteps of a raccoon. We know it's the son of Freddie Kruger. Or worse. It can always get worse.

Fear can rear its head in many forms... 

1) The fear of flying. If you're like me you're more afraid of a nasty virus lurking on the armrest. And don't even get me started on the recycled air. 

2) The fear of failure. Nuff said.

3) The fear of fire. That's mine.

4) The fear of water. Sharks are out there.  

I've been thinking a lot about fear lately. Ever since the Friday the 13th that we'll never forget. The massacre in Paris. If only it was just a movie. Why does real life have to be so much scarier than make believe? I'm scared now. And I bet you are too. I hate to say that I'm afraid because I don't want the wrong people to think they've won. But I wish I could just wake up and discover that terrorism was just a bad dream. I wish fear didn't have to follow.

Saturday, November 14, 2015

The Pilgrimage...

My friend Mary gave me a huge compliment last week. I still feel all warm and fuzzy just thinking about it. She actually visited and READ this blog. Then, (insert angelic voices bursting through the rafters singing Hallelujah) she told me she loved this blog and was a new fan. Maybe she will read my book someday!

Mary is preparing for a pilgrimage. Have you seen the movie The Way? It is a delightful film starring Martin Sheen, written and produced by his son Emilio. Martin Sheen's character Thomas walks the Camino_de_Santiago with his son's ashes. The film introduces us to interesting characters as Thomas walks through Spain on his pilgrimage of sorrow. A pilgrimage that Mary hopes to take as well.

After Mary made my day, I took a little pilgrimage of my own. A dark and frightening one. In my dreams. The human brain is so exasperatingly complicated.

1) Mary gives me a generous compliment.

2) I enter R.E.M. later that night.

3) I take a pilgrimage on the Merino de Sharon. Trust me. Danger ahead.

Here's what happened...

I was climbing a vertical stairway that hugged a sheer rock face. I was amidst a motley group of pilgrims, headed for the ficticious Merino Trail. It was an arduous climb. But I don't remember feeling tired. Hmmm. That's not like me. But that's the way it is with dreams. You're not really yourself. You are everyone and no one in particular. When my group of purgatory recruits reached the precipice, we started scaling the edge of the sheer cliff face. Horizontally. It was like we were stranded on psychotic, horizontal monkey bars. Just hand over fist to the left. Over and over. Hanging there. Falling was a real possibility. And it was a vertigo inducing 1-2,000 foot drop to our deaths. The scariest part was the bathrooms. Yes, they were there. Have you seen the tent that rock climbers attach to the cliff face when they need to catch some Zzzz's? That was what they were like. The hard part was the struggle to get in while gravity tugged at your legs. But I did. And the toilet was the size of a pear. That's when I looked down for the first time. Oh my God. It was like infinity. I did feel a modicum of safety on the platform. But it was a killer exit. I wasn't done. Not yet.

I don't recall the exhilaration of finishing the pilgrimage. But I or we did. The devil outfitters at the finish were filling an Olympic sized, blow up hot tub for us to revel in. So I guess it was a happy ending. Even the elderly lady made it. I think.

You might be wondering how I remembered my dream so vividly. Well, that's where my writing tip comes in. I keep a journal by my bedside for nocturnal inspiration. And you should too. There's also another tip I gathered from my nightmare. Wear a tether. In writing a tether might be reading as many books as you can, research and writing groups. Anything that will ground you and give you inspiration. 

Like dreams.

Lastly, you might want to take a pilgrimage over to Springtime in Magnolia for an A-Z book review.

Saturday, November 7, 2015

The Power of Patience

I don't know why I suddenly decided to write a book.  Maybe after turning the oven to 350 degrees, then baking myself for 30 odd years, the buzzer finally went off and ding, I was fully cooked. Hopefully I'm cooked. I could turn out to be medium rare, under-baked, pink in the middle and full of salmonella. Yuck. I sound gross!  Unfortunately, it could turn out to be that kind of temporary insanity. Although, I'm rooting for divine intervention.  What I do know for sure, is that after reading the page turning Gone Girl and temporarily hiring The Help, I decided to write a book. Literal Period. 

I guess those two books either inspired me or it was just a coincidence. So what happens when I'm done writing? Do you know what happened to Kathryn Stockett? Lots of rejections happened. Sixty rejections happened. Or, at least that's what it says on the internet. I can only imagine the frustration. Give me a year. Then I'll know. To think you can write an awesome book like Kathryn and then have the mailman break your heart sixty times. What a jerk! Well, Kathryn might not have blamed the mailman, but I'm not as nice as she is. Actually, I have no idea if she is naughty or nice. But I'm sure we'll be best buds after my book is published. Obviously. Duh.

 But then Kathryn sends out manuscript number sixty-one. Now The Help is a world wide best seller and one of my favorite books. I'll never look at an innocent chocolate cream pie with out at least a little anxiety. I loved it. It was way better than the movie.

Do I have the patience to send out my novel 60 times? What if 60 publishers tell me to go back to my day job of wrangling cats. I guess I'll have to do what T.V. evangelist Mac Hammond say to do. Have patience. He says patience provides the time to grow. 

You might not instantly blossom. A seed (a cute little seed like you and me) takes time to grow. I like that

Patience, persistence and perspiration make an unbeatable combination for success.

If you have enough patience, head over to Springtime in Magnolia for my book review on The Birds of Pandemonium.

Saturday, October 31, 2015

He can't act. He can't sing. He can dance a little.

Did you read my title? Well, that was what a studio head said about Fred Astaire before rejecting him. Ha! I just read that fact in an essential book for aspiring writers. What is it called? The Essential Guide for Getting Your Book Published. It's so helpful that I put a permanent link for it in my side bar. Rejection. Boy, that topic was covered over and over again throughout the eight writing guide books (and counting) I've read for my part time job. I love my part time job. It's reading! 

Guess whose debut manuscript was rejected 30 times and yet went on to become a best seller. But not only that, it launched a mildly tepid writing career. Well, I just requested a copy of this author's take on a guide book from the library. It's called On Writing: a memoir of the craft. It turns out, this guy knew a thing or two about writing. I can't wait to read it. You know, Stephen King's guide to writing. Of course, I was kidding about his tepid career. Boiling hot is a more simmering word choice. Here's a fun link of rejections that will shock and amaze. 

Stephen King is the perfect muse for this Halloween post. Did you know that he couldn't even afford a type writer when he was starting out. He may have married his wife for one. Or so the story goes. And not only that, do you know what he purchased for his wife to celebrate his first literary windfall? No, not a typewriter. A hairdryer. The horror! It was all he could find on a Sunday when all of the businesses were closed in Bangor, Maine. But don't take my word for it. Here's a link for the low down on Stephen King before he was the master of horror. King was getting his feet wet in the nudie mag market. He was more like the  apprentice of smut! Visit Mental_Floss for the rest of the story.

I started my horror research with Carrie and The Shining for my part time job recently. My book The Chorus of the Crows has an element of fear. A smidgen of scary. So I wanted to learn from the best. I didn't love Carrie. But I'm glad I read it. The Shining, however, was illuminating. In fact, I just had a nightmare or basically a succession of nightmares last week related to the book. Literary success in the horror genre! Nightmares. The only part of my dream I can remember was the Redrum part. It's always Redrum, right? I was in what appeared to be my childhood bedroom. And I instinctively knew it was demons. My eyes were focused on the ceiling and the small opening to the attic above my bed. There was something there. I just knew it. Basically, I was scared shit-less. My husband came sauntering in and nonchalantly spit out the word Redrum. As a joke. I told him not to utter that word. But it was too late. Eventually, after a nerve rattling silence, a child's demonic voice eerily choked out...  rrr...eee...ddd rrrr...uuu...mmm. The I woke up!

My absolute favorite part of The Shining, other than the great character Halloran,was when Jack drank his martians. I'll never order a martini without thinking of the book again. Let's all raise a glass this Halloween to Stephen King...

"Makes you, for a little while, a child again" Stephen King on the creative use of fear.

Happy Halloween!

Saturday, October 24, 2015

Ordinary Inspiration

I had lunch with my cousin Jane a few weeks ago. We had a lot to talk about. Jane recently blazed through a major down sizing. She had an estate sale. Her home and a lifetime of goods were up for grabs. A hard pill for anyone to swallow. I know. I had to auction off my family farm and at least two lifetime's worth of possessions several years ago. But Jane isn't down and out. Don't worry. She took the best of her worldly wares to a pretty new apartment.

Jane was a traveler. And at almost 90, she's been around the block a time or two. I inherited her large box of signed, sealed and delivered postcards. Where did she go? Budapest? Perhaps. The Bahamas? Maybe. I love to travel too. So I can't wait to dig into all those cards. Who knows where they might lead? And speaking of leading, I finally felt ready to navigate our conversation to some literary news I had in my back pocket. I decided to tell her about my novel.

There was an awkward silence and then the subject was changed. My news fizzled like some discarded plastic wrap thrown into a roaring fire.  But, sometimes, I'm sneaky and tenacious. So I offered up that literary gem again a little later.  This time she bit. Or maybe her defenses were weakened by the cognac we were sipping.

After I told her about my story, it reminded her of a wonderful book she had just finished. Ordinary Grace by William Kent Krueger. And indeed there are definite similarities. One of my main characters is a Methodist Minister. Just like in Ordinary Grace. My book takes place in a small Wisconsin town. O. G. takes place in a small Minnesota town. My book deals with some devastating deaths. So does O.G. In a masterful way. So of course I borrowed the book and read it immediately. I've been devouring good books in my quest for every and all inspiration. And it was a great book.  

I knew early on who did the what in the book. I have a devious mind. So there is little I don't figure out when I'm reading a book or watching a movie. I hate that! But it didn't matter. I was just swept along with the well crafted characters and small town visuals. I eagerly followed the train of sorrow till the very end. But I probably don't have to tell you that. It's already a best seller! 

 There is a big difference in the two books. Well, of course the obvious. Mine is unfinished, unpublished and being written by a blogger of dubious accomplishments. But the path of my characters leads to a completely different and disturbing place. The central conflict in my story revolve around the Hallucinations of Oren Walton. A prosperous farmer who has already suffered in so many ways. The rest of the important characters orbit around this central struggle. A struggle I'll hint at through out my path to publication.

 If you are a writer and would like to contribute a post about your own unique path, be sure to contact me. Or if you have ideas, resources or writing tips to contribute. Let me know!

 Here's a tip from Teymour Shahabi about YouTube  Do you think an empty, barren, word challenged page is scary? Then imagine putting your mug on YouTube. Yikes! I don't know if I could do it. But it's my tip of the week for marketing a book.

Lastly, head over to Springtime in Magnolia for my book review on Ordinary Grace.

Tuesday, October 13, 2015

In the beginning there was an empty page...

I've always had the secret dream of writing a novel. But then again, a lot of people have had this seemingly impossible dream. Grammar? Ghastly. Sentence structure? It just might implode like an old casino in Vegas. But there is one positive thing that finally set my writing ambitions apart from the dreamers and the not so serious dawdlers, I became a doer. The rules be damned!

Last spring I was going about the serious creative business of blogging, painting and taking lots and lots of photos. And I was doing the one thing that took up most of my valuable time on any given day. What's that you ask? Well, waiting. Just waiting around for an elusive freelance illustration job. Yawn. 

I've had a lot of story ideas. I'm a creative person. So the inspiration came easy.  But there was one idea that I couldn't shake.  It was very personal. I kept going back to it like a favorite television repeat. Sort of like when the Shawshank Redemption is on T.V. You just can't help but watch it. Right? Well, my idea was inspired from the very real hallucinations that my father struggled with throughout his battle with Parkinson's. And come hell or high water, I hope to make my parents proud with this book. May they rest in peace. 

So here I am at page one hundred and eight. I passed the hundred page point. Hooray! I'm having the time of my life creating a work of fiction. I'm writing what I know. But it is what I don't know that is the fun part. The imagining. I'm weaving together a tale of what I do and don't know like Rumpelstiltskin. Hopefully him. If I end up like the hapless Miller's daughter, then I'm screwed.

I researched writing for several months. So far, I've read eight books on the subject. Along with a succession of best sellers and old masterpieces. It was hard, back breaking work, but someone had to do it! I created an outline for my story first. Then I decided on characters. No easy task. I joined two writing groups. And most importantly, I just started writing. I've never had so much fun creating anything in my entire life.

So what will this blog be about? I'm planning to document my path to publication. Oh, yes. I plan on being published. And if all else fails, there's always self publishing. They'll be ups and downs. Editing. Yuck. Book teasers. Snippets. Favorite resources and guides. Inspiration. Maybe even guest writers. And if I ever create a worthy blurb, they'll be that. I plan to post weekly. So please come back!

And most importantly, stay tuned for more on my future book. The Chorus of the Crows...