May I Write a Novel?

As I said a few weeks ago, I've begun to find my way forward in the next book. 

As a rule, I'm not much of a joiner, but there are times when I make exception. I've occasionally done National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo) in November, but the only year I ever hit my goal was 2023, when I was working on The Son in Shadow. It helped that I'd already started, and that I was trapped in airports / on planes for a significant part of that time. 

NaNo is no more, for reasons, and anyway, November was never a good time for this project. I was always impressed with how many people managed to write 50k words in that month. (I never went that hard - 30k was generally the goal.)

I belong to a Facebook group called Successful Indie Author, run by Craig Martelle, who used to organize the 20Books conferences. He has set up something he's calling May I Write a Novel?, which lasts, obviously, for the month of may. I decided to sign up, along with at least 125 other people, and with my usual 1,000 words per day goal. 

Craig keeps us organized with a spreadsheet where we can post our daily word count, and it calculates the percentage of our goal that we've completed. I'm ahead of myself so far, but that's not surprising. I like to start strong so that if I have a few slow days, I'm covered. At this point, I'm shocked that simply signing up and "writing" with a few other people has motivated me this much!

Obviously, the book won't be finished this month. I'm doing something new and different and working from an outline, which is jarring for a discovery writer, but it seems to want it. We'll see how it goes.

Did you ever try NaNo? Did you win or did life?

Unreal

I know I've recently mentioned the new book covers and I shouldn't be beating this horse - which is not dead but which you may be tired of - but I got a box of books the other day with those new covers and I was just speechless for a little while. 

That doesn't really make sense, because I've been working with the designer on them for the past six or so weeks (and they're up online), so they shouldn't have been a surprise. But opening the box and seeing those jewel toned covers staring up at me just stopped me cold. 

They look like something I would see in a bookstore. And while being in a bookstore has never been a big part of my plan as an indie author - it's even harder than you would think to get them to take us seriously - looking like something that belongs there just adds another layer of validity, even for me.

I said to my husband that they didn't even feel like my books anymore, which is probably partly because Songbird is almost 5 years old now, and I guess there has to be a separation eventually. But it's also because these covers are far beyond what I expected of myself. I'd had the old covers for so long, and I really like them, and when it was suggested before that I update them to something that was on trend, I pushed back. 

Maybe I just wasn't ready to be seen in the way that I'm ready now? I don't know. Therapy was years ago and it didn't deal with putting myself out there in a professional sense. I'm a work in progress, but then, aren't we all?

Behold the pretties!

So. These are the new covers for my Tudor Court series and I can honestly say I didn't expect anything like this when I set out to do new covers. 

I liked my old covers. Or so I thought.

No. I did. But they weren't these.

And of course, the old covers weren't the original cover, which I also liked when I first saw it. Because it's my book and it has a cover and people are going to see it and maybe (?) buy it. Of course I liked it.

But these... The designer has knocked it out of the park. I'm so so so happy.

Where I started/where I'm going

Technical difficulties

Argh! Amazon!

I'm not sure if you know this, but part of my business model is advertising my books on Amazon. It works pretty well, as a rule - who knows what we like better than Amazon? 

About 10 days ago, however, that changed. Amazon had what they're calling a "glitch" with their US ads. They claim it's been fixed and will just take some time to trickle down, but I'm skeptical. Forgive me.

Normally 75-80% of my sales are in the US; currently it's 40%. And that's not because the other countries have stepped up. 

Right before things crashed, I started a new automatically-targeted ad for my Ava and Claire books. When it spent my full ad budget for 3 days running without a single sale, I checked the targeting (the search terms Amazon applies to the book) and WTF??

Dog training. Furniture refinishing. Psychological thrillers. True crime. 

Umm, no. That doesn't come close to my 1930s sister stories about hard times and resilient women. 

Anyway, this is a long way round to say if you've ever been interested in buying one of my books, now would be an excellent time because my income is going to be around my ankles this month otherwise. 

https://books2read.com/karenheenan

Kindle Unlimited counts. Library borrows count -- did you know you could request my paperbacks from your library? Actually, at this point, thinking good thoughts about the algorithm also counts. Thank you from the bottom of my stressed writer's heart.

Next...

The books are in charge. I know that now, and most of the time I accept it.

I thought I might be writing another Tudor book next, or maybe the more contemporary book that's been in my head for ages, but no. It's Pearl's turn.

Pearl is the eldest daughter of Ava Kimber, the main character in my 1930s series. In Coming Together, she is thwarted by youth and her mother and prevented from going to Paris for a year with her aunt. But now it's her turn. It's 1946, the war is over, and she's off to fulfill her dreams.

This is the blurb I have so far:

A city on its knees. A young woman with a dream.

All her life, Pearl Kimber has yearned to live in Paris and write. With the long years of WWII over at last, she’s traded the familiar for the intoxicating allure of the City of Light. She has twelve months to make her dreams come true. Nothing can get in her way - not even love. 

But as she wanders the streets of a city still torn by conflict, Pearl discovers a new Paris—a city of hope and endless possibility. As she falls deeper in love with the city and its people, she’ll uncover a story as captivating as the city itself, a story only she can tell.

Will Paris be the muse she’s always sought, or will the weight of the past be too heavy to bear?

It's only about 1/4 of the way done, but optimist that I am, I've put it up for pre-order for my birthday, January 31, 2025 (past the dumpster fire of election season and the recovery we will all deserve once it's over - I'm not guaranteeing how much brain I will have during that period, so January seemed safe).

Routine

Do you have one? Do you need one? Or do you drop into your day like the balls in a pinball machine, scattering everywhere? 

I'm a little of each. I have certain routines I like to follow - tasks on my calendar that get done each week, because otherwise I'd forget - and if I don't get my Monday morning at the coffee shop, I do get a little grumpy. The rest of the time, there's a list, and so long as the bulk of items on that list get done, I don't care in what order. 

A lot of writers like to sit down at their desk at a set time every day, staying there for a certain period or a certain number of words. That doesn't work for me. I've spent so much of my life writing in small corners of my life - at work, on the train, waiting in line - that a large stretch of time usually pushes me to do something that takes a large stretch of time to accomplish. I can do words in a few minutes, and come back to them later. It may not be the most efficient, but that's how I've trained myself to work, and this dog is too old to learn new tricks when the old ones serve perfectly well. 

This heat wave we've been having has definitely thrown off my routine. I haven't seen the coffee shop in 2 weeks, other than standard Saturday breakfast club after the farmers market. My daily 2-mile walks, which absolutely helped my writing brain, have also been curtailed. The only task I'm really keeping up on is the garden, because if I don't, it will die and we will have no veggies. 

So what's your method? Are you a list maker? A list checker? Or do you fall free form into your day and still get all the things done?? Or do you fall free form into your day and still get all the things done?

Help

Help.

There's a word. One I hate using. Always have. 

But.

Recently I had the opportunity to apply for a mastermind program for indie writers. I knew it would be good for me. I knew someone who was in the program just ending, who spoke highly of it. 

But. 

It's asking for help, right? Even paying for the membership is asking for help.

I don't do that well. Just ask my husband the stupid situations I get myself into because I don't like asking for help. Move furniture alone? Sure. So what if I can't stand up straight for 2 days? Transport 3 yards of mulch by myself? Absolutely - unless you insist on helping, and then I'll probably tell you that you're doing it wrong.

But it nagged me. I knew that this program - 12 writers at the same level, 12 months of intensive coaching, the kind of inspiration you only get from people who want the same thing as you, as badly as you - would work for me. 

Fine. I applied. It was a more thorough application than any job I've ever had. 

And then I got accepted. 

For a moment, I thought about making an excuse - too busy, not enough money. Something. 

Then I said, "Yes, thank you," and sent my payment. Because I do want to learn how to improve as an indie author, and I'm far more likely to do the work if I've paid for it.

But asking for help...it still hurts.

The Son in Shadow - Chapter One

 

Prologue

     My life has been spent in the shadows of powerful men. Some people flourish in shadows, but I have not; shadows are cold, and those concealed in their depths are not clearly seen by those who live in the light.

     I wish to be seen.

Chapter One

There was once a time when there were two queens in England. Whether I was fortunate in working for them both depended entirely upon your point of view. My opinion varied from day to day, but I had little choice in my continued service of two mistresses, and therefore tried not to think about it too often.
     “The queen will be there ahead of us at the rate we’re moving,” my man shouted as our horses splashed through a wide, shallow river.
     “I doubt it.” I looked over my shoulder at the group riding behind me. “They have to take care and choose a place where she’ll be welcome.”
     We were lately come from Scotland and our journey was by necessity more leisurely than if a royal warrant had been available to grant us a change of horse at each stopping place. As we made our way south, a pathetic straggle of men ostensibly loyal to a vanquished queen, I took careful note of what was said at the inns and in the halls of the great houses where we lodged.
     The other men of the party complained at our slow pace, but I had experienced far worse, and unlike the queen whom I had served until recently, no one on either side of the border was baying for my blood.
     It was by this time mid-May, and the worst of the spring rains had passed. The ground was boggy in spots but having made this ride in the torrential rains of autumn years before, my mind registered nothing more than weariness and a mild concern for our horses. I was glad to see a village appear below, with an obvious tavern by the side of the road.
     Handing our mounts over to an eager young lad whose hand flashed out for the coin I threw him, we ventured into the room—dark even on a bright day, with the remains of a fire low on the hearth. Several tables were occupied, and we settled at an empty one near a rowdy knot of young men, hoping for gossip. Sometimes we asked outright about the Scottish queen and others only waited for news to be dripped into our waiting ears. And news there was this day, as we quickly learned.
     “Defeated at Langside,” said a young man in a dirty brown coat, his elbows resting on the scarred table. “Not even a fight.”
     He had been there when we arrived, along with several others, already well into their cups. By their rough garb, they were apprentices or land workers cleaned up for a ride into the village.
     “Were they so outnumbered?” I asked, hoping for more.
    “Melted away into the hills is what I heard.” He slammed his empty cup on the table. “Left her standing there with her teeth in her mouth.” 
     We were told that even though her Protestant lords had made it clear she would never be permitted to regain the throne, Mary had nevertheless mustered a force of some six thousand men and faced down her son’s army. When they were defeated, she fled south with a scant handful of supporters and was rumored to be making for England—which, of course, we already knew.
     “Good fellows, not wanting to be associated with an adulteress,” Robert Sturgis put in, his voice insinuating. “Or a murderess.”
     “Ha!” The man threw his head back, calling to the maid. “More ale here for my friends.”

The right life

I was listening to a podcast the other day. An older female writer being interviewed, and she answered a question about why so many creative people give up on their dreams just before things get big. She said part of it is fear, because by that point we don't believe that good things will happen, but the other is that they reached a certain age and realized that they don't have a house or a 401k and they have no idea what their future is going to look like. And that's terrifying in a whole different way. 

That really resonated, and perhaps it's why I'm so gung-ho now. I did 30 years at a job - while writing for myself in my free time - and I had a house. I have the 401k. When we moved from Philadelphia to the burbs six years ago, we sold our West Philly houses and bought the new one for cash. It's much smaller than what we had before, but that's fine. Neither of us are extravagant. We don't need big houses, expensive cars, or nice clothes to wear for non-existent office jobs. 

So this later-in-life writing career suits me to a T. I may not have as many years as someone who starts in their twenties, but I've gotten the hard work and the bulk of the worry out of the way. We won't be homeless or hungry or wonder what the future will bring, other than the standard existential dread that afflicts us all from time to time. And I've lived a lot and learned a lot and written a lot in those intervening years. 

All in all, despite it having felt weird to be a debut author in my mid-50s, it's absolutely the right life for me now.

Author Life

Not a lot of time this week for a proper post (edits, craft shows) but I wanted to share an Amazon review I got the other day on Coming Apart, the first book in my Ava & Claire series. 

It was a one-star review, but not the worst thing that could have happened. First off, it proves that people night want content warnings, but they don't always read them. Second, a negative review like this is actually helpful - it warns like-minded readers that they won't enjoy the book, and gives others a heads up that they will.

One of the things I love about historical fiction is that it shows how little people have changed - customs and costumes, but not in our essentials. Also, in every era there are "hot topics" which done people don't want to talkb it read about. 

"I know things happened back then, but I was not expecting to read about it." 

Interestingly, I've gotten messages from other readers who had similar feelings as the reviewer but who said the books made them think, and while they hadn't necessarily changed their minds, they had more empathy for people in difficult situations than they did prior to reading.

Live and in person

The other week, I did an author event at a local venue. It was the first time I had done something like that - I did a reading at a bookstore not long after Songbird came out, but covid put paid to live events and I never got around to trying it again. 

This event was interesting. Not very large, not very well attended, though I did sell a few books and, more importantly, made some local author friends. 

On the other side of my efforts to not return to cubicle life, I did a large craft show this past Sunday. Well attended, but it started very early, the weather was very damp and chilly, and by the time it was over I was remembering why I started to cut back on craft shows.

Not that there weren't good parts, not that there weren't sales, not that there weren't great conversations with crafting friends - none of whom were located within chatting distance, so we were all grumbling via text message - but outdoor shows are such a crap shoot. I've been rained out as often as I've had glorious days, but most are just in the middle. Okay weather, but not the sort of day that will draw people outside, and which make me think longingly of my sewing room or, better yet, my desk. 

But I can't give up craft shows anytime soon. I don't really want to, and it is still a source of income in the spring and fall. I don't do summer shows because I don't like sweating, and a lot of the people who would buy for me are off at the shore with their kids. So I can justify staying home in front of the fan.

No photo with me at Sunday's show but I'm really pleased with this one from the author event. Maybe I'm just more photogenic when surrounded by my books.

So pretty!

Just a short check-in this week because I'm up to my ears in craft show prep for this coming weekend, edits on the just-finished book 4 of my Tudor Court series, and the garden is calling pretty loudly.

The Son in Shadow won't be out until June 15, but the pre-order is up for the ebook (can't do pre-orders on paperbacks on Amazon, at least not yet) and I wanted to show off the new covers I've put on the ebooks.

While I love the paperback covers with their historic ceilings, I wanted to try something different, and it's very easy to change out ebook covers because they're a simple graphic, rather than tthe actual typesetting of a full-wrap book cover with spine measurements and text, etc.

I wasn't planning to do a re-cover, but these came out so well that I've put them up. Ebook only, for now at least. A Wider World is my favorite, but it's also my favorite of the books, so that makes sense.

What's next: The Son in Shadow

Now that Ava & Claire are fully launched into the world, I've gone back to my first love, the Tudor era.

I thought there were going to be five full novels in the series, with a collection of short stories to finish it out, but it turns out that there will be four and the collection. The fifth book just isn't taking shape properly, and everything I've been working on with book four tells me that it's the proper end of the series. 

When the book is that definite, I don't argue.

The illustration here is AI. There is a completed cover, but it's not yet for public consumption. Here's the blurb.

The Son in Shadow: A Tale of Spies, Love, and Rebellion in the Elizabethan Court 

Will Hawkins has spent his life under the thumb of powerful men, but no more. He's finally carved out a comfortable existence for himself, working in Elizabeth's court for the esteemed Cecil and Walsingham. His future appears secure and full of potential, especially with his burgeoning love for the delightful Kit Rowan, his niece's governess. 

But Kit unknowingly harbors a dangerous secret, and when she comes under the watchful and unforgiving eye of Walsingham, Will's carefully constructed world begins to crumble. He's forced to make an agonizing choice: his future or the woman he loves. 

Desperate to save Kit from the spymaster's clutches, Will finds himself partnering with the last person he ever expected - his domineering father. Together, they embark on a perilous journey, navigating a web of deceit and political intrigue. Can they find a way to free Kit from Walsingham's grasp, or will their efforts be in vain, costing them not only their hearts, but their very lives?

Drama, drama, right? A blurb has to suck readers in, and I'm hoping this will do just that. Now I need to keep writing so that the inside lives up to what's written on the cover.

Thanksgiving

This is a snippet from Coming Apart, both because it’s the perfect time of year to re-share and because I’m up to my eyebrows in Thanksgiving preparations and so I'll leave you with Ava’s meal instead.

It is Thanksgiving, 1931, early in the Depression but there didn't need to be a crash for poverty to be felt in Pennsylvania's coal country. Ava's mother has just died and the family is still reeling from her loss and the unexpected return of her sister Claire. They share the meal with their next-door neighbors so that everyone has enough food.

******

Trudy and I combine forces for Thanksgiving. Her son has not returned, and for a few days, my smiling friend is replaced by a sad-eyed woman who looks ten years older. She pulls herself together because Fritz and Hetty, her remaining grandchildren, need her.

In addition to the moral support, a joint dinner means more food for all. One of Daniel’s friends managed to shoot a couple of turkeys in the woods north of town, and he brought one home in exchange for helping to fix a roof. The house is perfumed with its rich scent.

Carrying the platter across the back porch to Trudy’s kitchen, I think about how this was always Mama’s favorite holiday. She was big on gratitude, giving loud thanks for blessings other people might not have recognized as such. I want to be more like her, but I can’t help but see that we have a turkey only because Daniel gave up his day off, and a meal meant for family must be shared with others for there to be enough.

I hear Mama’s voice, as I often do these days. Family is whoever you choose to bring under your roof. Trudy is family, in that sense, as was Dora, her daughter-in-law.

There are thirteen around the table, which is two tables put together and dragged into the front room: Trudy and Hermann, Fritz and Hetty, Daniel and me and our five, and two of Trudy’s boarders who were invited at the last minute, soft-spoken men whose contributions are a pie and a packet of tea.

“Bless us, O Lord, and these, Thy gifts which we are about to receive from Thy bounty. Through Christ, Our Lord, amen.” 

The room falls silent but for “please pass the potatoes” and “may I have more beans?” For once no one worries about holding back for the next day.

One of the men says something to Hermann, and he repeats it to Trudy. She turns to me. “Hans says at such a meal, his family would go around the table and each person says what they are grateful for. Do you think this is good?”

“It sounds like something Mama would have liked.”

Her eyes crinkle. “Then we shall do it for Lillie.” She explains the idea to everyone and points to the man who suggested it. “Hans, is your idea, so you go first.”

Hans blushes and stammers, but manages—with Trudy’s translation—to say, “I am thankful to be surrounded by kind people when I am missing my family.”

His friend, whose name I didn’t catch, echoes him, word for word.

“I’m thankful for turkey!” Toby waves his fork.

“And pie!” George, not to be outdone, points toward the kitchen.

“I’m grateful for my family,” Dandy says, ducking his head.

Trudy looks around. “I am thankful for my family that is here, and my family that is not here.”

Fritz, his chin quivering, gulps and says, “I am thankful Mama didn’t live to see us separated.” His grandmother says something sharp in German and the boy shakes his head.

“I’m grateful for Granny,” Pearl says, smoothing things over. “I’m grateful we had her as long as we did.”

“So am I, honey.” I put my hand over hers. “And I’m grateful for everyone at this table today.”

“Thelma?” Daniel asks. “What about you?”

She looks up through tousled curls and points at my belly. “I’ll be grateful not to be the baby anymore.”

There is no night shift on Thanksgiving. Daniel and I huddle together under the quilts, listening to the murmur of the kids’ conversation on the other side of the wall. It quiets down soon enough; their bellies are too full for them to stay awake for long.

“You never said what you were thankful for.” I roll on my left side, the only position in which I am comfortable.

He curls around me and nuzzles my neck. “Like you have to ask,” he says. “I’m thankful for you, and our family. I’m the luckiest man in the goddamn world.”

It's Vegas, Baby!

We got back Friday night. Five full days in Vegas which simultaneously felt like forever and also the blink of an eye.

I knew, in theory, that Las Vegas would be overwhelming - the lights, the crowds, the noise. Add in a full day of author service vendors, offering services and explaining how they would help and handing out swag, then follow that with three days of intensive sessions on craft, marketing, mindset, different aspects of the industry, and that is a recipe for fried brains.

The Venetian - canals in the desert

My husband went along as a volunteer for the AV crew, because the conference was also livestreamed for those who couldn't come to Vegas. I attended virtually for the past 2 years, but decided to do this one in person. I'm glad I did, but I don't think I'll be back to normal for at least another week. This exhaustion goes all the way to my bones.

But having him there was great, because when we both got done around 5:00 p.m. each day, we could step away from the conference center and walk or go out for dinner - an expensive proposition - and just talk over the different things we'd learned. He may not be a writer but he is creative and he does write, and many of the sessions he got to witness were right up his alley in terms of topic.

I came home with a notebook packed full of notes and ideas, which I'm still transcribing (legibly, this time) and trying to sort out. I think this conference will be career-changing, once I can organize myself and begin to implement some of the ideas.

Outside of the conference, some of my favorite things: 

The Dale Chihuly glass ceiling at the Bellagio; 

The food court at the Horseshoe, where we stayed - site of many author meetups and middle of the night insomnia writing sessions; 

Chihuly ceiling at Bellagio

The interior of the Venetian. The shopping area has an artfully painted and lit ceiling, so that it looks like outdoors. There are canals with gondolas - ridiculous in the desert - but I was impressed that they got the distinctive green-blue color of Venice's water absolutely correct; 

Mon Ami Gabi, the French restaurant at the base of the miniature Eiffel Tower at the Paris casino. We had our Thursday night splurge dinner there before leaving on Friday and it was delicious;

Possibly most important, the teeny tiny travel coffee maker I bought for our room. The hotel gave us a fridge, but no coffee maker or microwave because they want guests to come downstairs and spend money. I'll come downstairs when I'm caffeinated, thank you very much. 

Have you ever been to Vegas? What did you think? Was it fabulous? A nightmare? Some winning combination of the two?

Meet Ava & Claire

So Coming Together launched into the world this time last week, and I'm blown away by the response. Thank you all so much for your purchases, for your comments and reviews and reactions. 

Since I'm not capable of much yet, I thought I'd share something I've been playing with. Recently, my computer updated and gave me Dall-E for AI image generation. I wasn't going to try it but I was so mentally exhausted from book launch activities that I gave it a try.

My prompt was: "Please make a b/w photo of two women in their mid-30s, dressed in clothing from the 1930s. They are obviously sisters. Woman on left is taller, slightly thinner, prettier, with light blonde hair. Wearing a v-neck dress & pearls. One on right is shorter, light brown hair, not as pretty, not as well-dressed but not shabby. Both women have pleasant expressions and are obviously close."

Everyone, meet AI Ava and Claire. I'm not sure what to think. It's a bit glam for Ava (and there's not enough of their Irish mother in these faces) but the result is still so much better than I expected. I may continue to play with this as I reassemble my brain and start work on what's next.

Plot Walking

Last week, in addition to a book release, I had a visit from my friend Marian Thorpe, whose books I've spoken about here before.

Marian is one of my favorite writers, and also one of my closest friends. She drove down from Canada and we spent the better part of four days eating and talking and walking off all the food while talking some more. We both have our next books fairly firmly in mind because of all that plot walking.

One day we spent at the John Heinz Wildlife Refuge. Another was spent at Longwood Gardens, which I have somehow managed to never visit before this. I think part of me had waffled because of the $25 admission fee, but we ended up spending more than five hours there, so it was certainly worth it. All the photos here are from Longwood, because I forgot to take any on the other days.

It was absolutely perfect October weather - just cool enough, just sunny enough, leaves just beginning to turn.

By the time she went home, we had worn ourselves out. But is there any better way to be tired than from spending time with friends?

Bonus Content Question

Have you signed up for my mailing list? This isn't a request that you do sign up (although I would appreciate it) - I'm just curious, for those who have, what you thought of the bonus content delivered at the time you signed up. Currently, it's a prequel novella to the Ava and Claire stories.

Once I finish the series - October 18, coming soon! - I'm debating between an epilogue which didn't fit in the book, or a PDF of photographs of locations used in the books, paired with snippets of text and/or local history.

If you were to sign up for a mailing list, which would be more interesting to you, having read the books?

What happens in Vegas

Writing is weird. I'm surrounded all the time by imaginary people, but there aren't a whole lot of real people I can talk to about my writing. When I find them, virtual or in the flesh, I tend to hang on.

A few years ago I joined a Facebook group for writers called 20Books to 50K. It's a weird name, but the explanation is this the founder wanted to make enough money on book sales to retire to Cabo. He figured he could do that on $50,000 a year - but rather than put all the responsibility on one or two books, he did some advanced writer math and realized that if he wrote 20 moderately-successful books - books that made $7.50 each per day - he could make that $50,000 without having a runaway bestseller. So it's a retirement plan specific to one writer, but a group of writers have grown up around it, most of whom have found various ways to get where they want to be. 

It's extremely motivating. In two years, I still haven't worked my way through all their online content, but I'll get there eventually. But the big deal - the big dog, as it were - is the yearly conference in Las Vegas.

You can pay for a virtual ticket and watch the live stream, which I've done for 2 years. Eventually the videos end up on YouTube and I can watch all the presentations I wasn't able to see at the time. But like any event, much of the important stuff happens outside of the presentations and classes, meeting writers you admire, comparing notes with someone on your level or just above.

So I've wanted to go, even though I knew it would be massively overwhelming. I couldn't justify it last year, and I had pretty much talked myself out of it this year until they put out a call for volunteers to handle the live streaming of the presentations. They hired professionals last year, and it didn't go well, so this year they decided to go back to volunteers - and those volunteers would get a conference pass, a free room, and a food stipend. I convinced my husband that with his background in communication (job) and film and TV production (in college, but still) he would be an ideal fit. Then I could share his room and his food stipend, and all I would have to pay for would be my conference fee and the airfare.

Also, we haven't had a vacation since 2018, which is one of the reasons I put off going to Vegas last year. Our March 2020 vacation was canceled, obviously, and two rescheduled trips since then had to be put off because of other issues. This isn't a trip to Paris, but we can go and stare at a fake Eiffel Tower if we're not too tired.

This is the only way I would ever want to go to Vegas. That much noise and lights and crowd is enough to send me into a hole but only if I could pull it in after me. And I will do that, the very evening we land back in Philadelphia when the conference is over. My introvert self will suck it up for 5 days, retreat to the room when necessary, meditate in the toilets, do whatever it takes to get the best experience possible out of this.

What happens in Vegas won't stay in Vegas. I'm going to bring it home and implement it and hopefully take my writing career to the next level.

Who's in charge here?

A photo of my great-aunt Margaret
and some lost-to-time beau, 
used for the cover of Coming Together

Last week I wrote about finishing my draft of Coming Together, and that was true. But I didn't finish it in the way I had originally intended, and I thought it would be fun to share what happened along the way.

You see, I don't write to an outline. I know where my story starts, and I have a few ideas of what happens along the way - nails on which to hang the plot. Generally, by the time I'm about 20% in, I know how the story should end, but only in a loose way. It takes longer to work up the exact scene.

I wrote the ending to Coming Together about three months ago. I knew there would be edits. There are always edits. But it said what I wanted it to say, it gave a nice circular finish because it happened at the same time of year as the beginning of the first book, and it cleaned up so many dangling plot threads.

What could go wrong?

My characters could go wrong, that's what. Well there are three main characters in the series - Ava; her sister, Claire;and Pearl, Ava's daughter - Ava is the main main character. And that final scene / epilogue was from her point of view. Which made sense, because the books always begin and end with her.

As I got down to the end, I made a list of scenes that needed to be written. The last scene was Claire's, and it would tie things up until the Ava epilogue. Except that when I wrote Claire's scene, Ava spoke up and insisted she had to have a scene on top of that. Which would mean that she would have the final scene and then the epilogue, and I didn't want that.

But Ava's scene was good. It said what I wanted the epilogue to say and it tied in with the preceding scene. So what to do with my epilogue?

I tried to rewrite it from Pearl's viewpoint. Pearl started out writing diary entries in the first book, but she came into her own voice in book 3, and I have a sneaking suspicion that someday Pearl will have her own book. But not today, Pearl. So giving her the epilogue could make sense. Except that it needed to be her mother. There are things necessary to that epilogue that Pearl doesn't know, or doesn't know completely.

What I've decided to do is to finish the book with Ava's scene, as she insists. The epilogue will now become bonus content for newsletter subscribers who have read all three books. It won't make much sense any other way, but I can't stand for it just to remain on my computer.