I seem to be running a bit behind as far as the blog is concerned.
Let me tell you, this year Nano just about killed me. It didn't do any good for my fitness level either. Can you still call it "stubborn belly fat" if it migrates to your arms and face?
Anyway...
:-)
The trilogy is finished, the holiday books are released and the next three are in edits. Phew. Anthologies and 'zine stories are spattered throughout the next year and I am one pooped author. Pooped.
On a fun note, I had the pleasure of taking my very first novel (first written, not first through this process) into edits last week. It was ghastly. Not the process, mind you, the novel was ghastly. It was. I almost cried. I lied about the fun part.
I got to thinking as I gaped in horror at the words I, apparently, wrote while under the influence of....stupid, and I started counting years since I wrote the bloody thing. Ooops. Has it really been that long? Now what?
Thank god for good editors. Mind you, they're not all good. But this one book, this one that needs by far the most TLC (read that shredding) happened to hit the jackpot of editorial delight. Phew. I have no doubt that between our two critical eyes (okay four) we can beat, knead and abuse the manuscript into publishable shape. . . I hope. Really.
Cross your fingers for me, okay? I mean, the story is still good. I love the characters, I love this book. I love the trilogy (though I seriously hope the writing gets better as we go!) and I want it to succeed. At the moment, however, I love it like a very ugly child...and I'm considering paying for it's plastic surgery. You know?
I'm a bad parent. :-)
Wish me luck,
Frances
award-winning animal stories