Was on a good writing roll last week before a family camping trip. Hopefully, I can get back into the groove Monday.
Really starting to dig this new manuscript. ❤️
Even historical fiction needs a pinch of romance. Here’s a wee exchange I wrote today between the heroine and her love interest. #LoveTheseTwo
Muscling through a million pages of introductory material and nonfiction disclaimers to FINALLY reach the heart of the matter. #TheFirstHighPriestess
This scene came out of nowhere, and apparently, I had to jot it down. And… it’s in Alrik’s POV. #Interesting
Could this be the beginning of Avelynn 3?
Alrik ran his hand along the worn rail, the wood cool and wet, the mist blanketing the hull in a shroud of silence. They’d all know of his betrayal and exile. Raven’s Blood skulked like a wounded dog, her numbers greatly reduced from her altercations in Wales, though no one would be fool enough to think her crippled. At close to fifty crew, she was still formidable, but dissent and bitterness trailed the aft like a festering dung heap. Those looking would smell it a hundred knots away.
“How much longer?” Tollak leaned his hip against the steering board—the rudder as useless as the compass stone since the fog descended and they’d dropped anchor.
Alrik ran a hand through his hair. There was no splitting the veil. “Another day, perhaps?”
At the least the sea rolled quiet. Despite the otherworldly chill, he’d gladly take fog over a tempest. He glanced around the crew. “How many?”
Tollak frowned. “At least half.”
Alrik nodded. That was to be expected. At least twenty men would stand by him, offering protection for the ship and Avelynn. It would be a good number to present to his uncle Rurik in Novgorod, if he accepted them. Only the Gods knew their fate. The rest of the men would return home to Gotland and Sweden. They owed him nothing.
I want to start a movement based on positivity, community, support, and fellowship.
My vision revolves around three words:
Dream. Believe. Create
If you can dream it, believe in it, then create it.
Dream big. Dream with your whole heart.
Believe in yourself. Believe in your vision.
Create your own destiny. Create your happiness. Create your dream come true.
#Road2Publication is a tool to support authors and writers on their quest toward publication. Whether you’re seeking traditional or self publishing, we all have the same goal… for others to read our work. We might take many different paths to get there, but we are all on the same journey. I’d like to create a community of support where we lift each other up, share our experiences, and root each other on.
Talk about your successes. Share your obstacles. Ask questions. Find answers. Speak about your current WIP. Tell us about your process. Where are you on your #Road2Publication?
Writing is a fascinating process. You start off in one direction, wander down multiple pathways, back track, take the fork in the road, retrace your steps, follow the bend, stare at dead ends, turn back, and try again. So many tangents, so many broken lines… only to end up at the right spot, eventually.
#AllAboutTheJourney #WritersLife #HotInAruba #Word
From today’s writing: Hot in Aruba
My feet moved mechanically. I was a sexually active woman. I loved sex. I craved the intimacy and high of climax, yet around Carlos, I acted like a girl who’d barely been kissed. And why? Because I was bent on us being friends. That old record was seriously wearing out its groove.
When he’d suggested we should head back, I’d wanted anything but. However, the idea of pushing him down and fucking him in the desert sand hadn’t really appealed to me, and I couldn’t for the life of me figure out why? Outside sex was hot. A thought burbled to the surface, and I cringed. A whiny, pouty little voice mewled that our first time together should be special.
I kicked a pebble in my path. What the hell was happening to me? I was losing my fucking mind.