moar funny pictures
I’m not so…online. Correction–I’m reading more than posting, which is probably a good thing for the romance community. Lurking. Thinking that a lot of writers I used to know rather well have moved onto…well, writing I guess. My yahoo group is floundering (as are many I think). My blog is rarely visited (by anyone, including me). My books aren’t reviewed as quickly. There are so many out there, I tell myself. The epublishing community is a very, very different animal than it was a few years ago. It’s sprouted wings and horns and scales and other appendages I can’t describe.
I got kicked off one loop, I guess cause I don’t write for that company any more. That makes sense.
I’ve a novella off in a slushpile. Two WIPs that I stare at once in a while. Not quite right. One is a fantasy romance, one is a steampunk romance. They are both long (well, not yet). I’ve hit this wall so many times it’s astounding it’s still standing. And that I haven’t cracked my skull yet.
From far away, as if in a dream, I feel the pull to write something, somehow. Something I didn’t know I was capable of. And of course, this is probably what every writer feels. That they have “the” book in them. Do I? I know how to avoid finding out, for I’ve done that for a few years now. Permission to be free? Almost. Almost ready to write without borders, to color outside the lines.
What is your dream project?