I am currently holed up in my woman cave editing the final chapters of my current WIP, Defining Moments. Honing, polishing and pruning. At least that is what I am supposed to be doing and not playing around with the video synopsis.
Forty-years worth of the life and times of the emotionally fragile Lisa Grant, ex-columnist for Metropolitan magazine with a quest to dig herself out of her self-dug rut... encapsulated in 88,000 words.
I intend to be more organised than I was the first time around. This time I will plan my new novel before I write a single word.
I have just run off the first, complete, draft of my first work of fiction.
I have reached the point of no return and I am terrified. I want to cry. I want to run away from it. I want to read Stephen King's On Writing ... again ... on a desert island with no interruptions, because I seem to have forgotten everything he said.
