We're plotting and writing scenes.
You know that whole "welling up out of your soul" business? It happens.
I'm working on a piece of genre fiction. I have the beast plotted in the first form of "here ... to ... there" and I understand the transformations in the protagonist I wish to portray for the reader.
I'm on it. I'm putting together scene drafts (what needs to happen in the text) to link some key elements.
I'll be drafting in full next week.
It's been three years. Time enough. Back on the horse.
I still miss Dean. Died too damn soon; and too damn quickly.
Selfish of me. Meh - I too am a flawed character.
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