Not in a bad way, but in the "it's all downhill from here" kind of way. Wait, that's negative. Redefined: Going downhill is easier (not running, cuz that crap hurts your shins, but the coasting aspect of it on some sort of vehicle, dur) than going uphill or flat, and I think I might be there.

Of course, this is before reaching the point of editing and being told what parts suck and that I need to scrap 15 pages of work or something like that.

Sooooo, let's just call it like it is: I've gotten to the point in my writing where I'm going for the details, to make readers see what I see, to make it (as my lovely sister pointed out) so these characters aren't just talking heads. They are on a couch, drinking vanilla-caramel lattes sharing a blueberry scone that makes your mouth yearn to be eating that scone, sitting on a worn-out lumpy couch in a corner of a close-air, but not uncomfortably so, coffee shop with concrete floors that were painted so long ago only flecks of brown paint still exist up to the dark wood L-shaped counter littered with glass jars of handmade biscotti and 14-layer caramel cakes. (As any Statesboroian would guess, they are sitting in the Grind. Yum.)

Dammit. Now I want a slice of cake. It's a 14-layered party in your mouth.


I've got most of the conversations hashed out, and the plot is probably 80 percent finished. Okay, maybe closer to 74 percent. But Emily was right: They are floating heads named Amara, Ryan, and Donatus.

Ha! See? I told you I'd reveal names as time went on! They are no longer A and D and Ryan (beautifully named Ryan... wistful sigh), but Amara and Donatus. And they're wonderful people.

My next reveal will (hopefully) be the book/series titles. This has been almost as hellish as naming Ryan.

Buuuut, according to my sister and father, the Naming Angels might not be humming, but are at least clearing their throats. I'm just sitting here, waiting for Amara, Don, or Ryan to say something brilliant and beautiful enough to be the first thing that any reader reads.


Yep, just hanging out here. Waiting on a figment of my imagination to be a genius. This isn't a problem at all, is it?