I forget that people actually read my online diary and remember what I’ve written. I certainly forget what I write. Fast. There’s no way I could survive if I kept track of all the fictional dramas I create–the sex, the lies, the heartbreak and scandal. And then with the diary….well, I often reveal waaaaay more than I should and I definitely don’t want to remember that.
However, I’ve been nudged by some readers this week, asking me for an update on Flirting with Forty, next summer’s book from Warner. Apparently I told you all how I’ve waiting for my revision letter and the longer I wait, the more anxious I become, certain that what I’ve written is bad. Well, I’ve heard from my editor now. Those of you who have been holding your breath (um, I’m sure you took some little breaths) can exhale. When I was in New York for the Warner party and meetings with my editor, agent and publicist I got the revision letter and discussed the changes in person. The changes were minor. She really liked the book.
I finished the revisions yesterday afternoon, the manuscript has once more been emailed out, and I’m back working on other projects, including getting a proposal to Warner for my third book. The Harlequins, though, are not pouring out of me fast and furious. I have the ideas…I have the entire story plotted out and character traits and everything. I just am not getting the words out, the words down, the words collected. It’s as if there’s a dam upstairs in my head, holding everything back. Of course, sooner or later the dam will break (it has to. I’ve a deadline. Even if I don’t want a deadline) and I’ll get in a groove and the story will happen.
Or so I keep soothing myself.
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