When it comes to Writer’s Block… I am missing that gene. I have the other type of DNA, verbalizations and typed words just flow. Sometimes, the flow is like lava, slow and burning. But most of the time, it’s like a raging waterfall, syllables splashing over my fingertips, noisy even on my quiet keyboard.

That means my first novel started at 109,000 words. And I swear, I didn’t try to pad a single paragraph.

Now culling, winnowing, trimming, and releasing the burrs of cocklebur, burdock, and sandbur.

How does it feel to try and trim what seem to be essential ingredients to the plot line? It feels like raking at acres of wheat. I suppose separating the chaff from the wheat is more accurate.

What is valuable? What is extraneous? I’ve edited other peoples’ books, including New York Times bestsellers, but raking at my own? Much, much harder…

So… I’ve cut the book down to 103,000 words. Now I am rearranging my chapters. After all, the beginning has to put that question mark in your mind. You know which question, right?

And while this debut novel is being tumbled in the rock polisher, I have already started on the second in the series (and the third!).

I do this while working a job, supporting my household.

Who needs sleep?