Some Stories Need Time

No luck with NaNoWriMo or Prototype. I’ve almost got the first edit of Masked Intentions done and have begun to look for covers. So I’ve got that going for me, I guess.

Writing on my little phone caused hand and joint pain. Who knew that could happen?

Okay, I knew that could happen. But I figured thumb pain, not aching spiraling from the knuckle of my index finger causing generalized weakness and then fiery pain all up my arm. All because of how I was balancing the phone, oh, and a broken knuckle three years ago from an ex.

Death Mask has started over. I didn’t like how it was going. It felt slippery and bitter.

And is on my old phone. My new one is much larger. Well, larger than the little thing barely bigger than my fist. My new phone is on a different carrier, which offers actual data too, so I can go back to social media guilt free.

When I’m home it’s other stuff and more stuff and errands and Dorian forcing me to take breaks like the mean man he is, looking out for my well being, how dare he!

She says sarcastically.

I’m currently tossing angels around. Or I have been for a while. This set of books would be closer to Contracted on heat level. The others have sort of meandered away, and that’s okay.

With the angels I’ve been debating all over. First with which should be involved and then how the angel hierarchy might be set up and then on to what the female Mc is. I think I may have finally settled on telling the story of one Sam and Lily. Lily has a friend, whose name I don’t know yet but her friend is bad ass.

… and is Sam’s ex.

Sounds completely normal, right? What could possibly go wrong?

I mean, I’ve already written the ex ending the world out of jealousy, so it can’t happen twice, right?

What this story has really brought home for me is that sometimes stories need to wait to be told. A bit might be missing, you may not have that integral part of the plot that you need to come to you in a startling moment as your boss barks an order across the floor and you giggle instead of hopping to because someone ‘meeped’.

Yes, she meeped, she didn’t squeak or squawk. The sound that came out of her mouth was ‘meep’.

Maybe, just maybe, I can get back to writing now.

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