So I am three days into my non-writing binge. The craving has started. I loved the first seventy-two hours or so, but it’s starting to feel like enough is enough.

I got my first reviews back from readers on fictionpress–blogged about them on my own blog, so I won’t repeat that here–and my first beta reader comments last night and this morning. I spent a few hours reading the manuscript yesterday–something I promised myself I wouldn’t do, but did anyway. And now… I want to tweak. Just a little. Just a bit here and there, a repetition, a typo, a clunky sentence. And I want to write something else. I’m busy for the next couple of days–there will be no writing time–but my thoughts keep turning to stories.

I loved my main character by the end of the book. She was often a pain-in-the-ass along the way. In fact, always a PITA.


From the very beginning, she drove me crazy. She and the other main character find a lost child in the first chapter of the book. I had this mellow idea that she’d bring the kid home while they looked for the kid’s parents. She said, almost immediately, “I’m a doctor, a mandated reporter. No. The child goes to DCF.” SO inconvenient. Later, she had one little job to do–to open her door so that she could get kidnapped. She flat-out refused, saying, “I’m not stupid. No.” At the almost climax, she gets the gun. What does she do with it? One guess, and if you guess something to do with the Hippocratic Oath and a complete unwillingness to defend herself with physical violence, you win.

From the very beginning, she was a character who simply refused to play along.

And I’m done writing her. I can go write someone else now.

My fingers are itching to start.