A writer’s life for me (cue Disney music)
This is very weird.
I was working on the first draft of the third thriller. My heroine is in a gunfight in a dilapidated Baltimore warehouse, crappy part of town, rotting floorboards under her steampunk boots, an enemy she loathes as her only semi-reliable ally and people whose backs she once had gunning for her. She–
Oops. UPS arrived yesterday afternoon was the hardcopy edits for the second thriller. I yank on the parking break, the tires squeal. Book 3 comes to a halt as I leap out, jump back into Book 2, and start working on the edits.
But (my brain protests)… again, with the warehouse and the shooting and the deceit and the clunky but admittedly sexy leather boots… Shouldn’t we maybe sort of stick where we are and, you know, finish the scene? Places to be, people to cap…?
No. Being a novelist is not just an adventure, it’s a job. And my edits for Book 2 are here, so Book 3 goes on the shelf along with, you know, a personal life and dating and The Daily Show.
The edits for the sequel to “Crashers” begins… now.