I’m ready for the final turn on SCHOOLED. Most of my Beta Reads are back. One was so good, so concrete, I felt myself nodding at every red-lined comment. The things I knew were wrong–are wrong. The things that needed more–still need more. I’m lucky to get a great critique. Not great in the expansive ego building sense, but solid. I know I can fix this. She said the nicest thing, “This is a very good story–I found myself thinking about it when I was away from it.” What writer doesn’t live for that?
November is National Novel Writing Month. Last year’s manuscript is tucked away, a Clairfontaine notebook of a novel. That’s right. It’s still in longhand, ready to be typed. The ending is wrong, but thanks to the New Mexico fire season, I know what to do. The collage hangs above the buffet in my dining room-cum-office. It would be reasonable to start typing as soon as possible.
I should be reasonable, but I have another bright, shiny thing going on in my head. Not a fully formed plan, barely a spark. I can’t quit thinking about it.
I’ve never been a fan of all things in moderation. I favor submersion. Full tilt.