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Day 30: The Merging

October 30, 2012 by Kelli

I’ve had this desire for awhile now to start a new site where I could write with a little more abandon. I love this space I’ve created at Minivans Are Hot. I love laughing with you all. I love shaking my head in bewilderment at the fact that I DRIVE A MINIVAN! What the huh?!

Aaaaanyhoooo…

I needed something new – some place to stretch my wings as a writer a bit. I will still be updated here regularly, because this place is my outlet. But I’ll also be over there periodically just…letting the words dance a little.

Join me over there today?

Photo by AvodahImages.com

There is a brief morning moment when the early morning light kisses the ground and staves off the slumber of night. With a wink and a flash the dark slides back and the daylight exposes the newness of the morning. It is still and leaves behind that comforting place where peace settles and all things seem possible.

This new site is my morning post.

It is the quiet and the peace and the shared moment of grace and joy. This is where the words will dance and the act of writing will be less of a labor and more of the shining glimmer of dew on tall green grass. There are no ads to run, and there is no genre to follow. Expectations are low and joy runs rampant.

A final sneak peek

October 23, 2012 by Kelli

I haven’t written many of my trademark witty posts lately. I’m sorry about that. I tried to think of something funny to write about today, but I got nothin’.

Actually, I have several things…but I can’t share them. The kids are at the ages where they get all embarrassed and mortified at the thought of me sharing anything about them. I mean, SHEESH! Don’t they know we’re living in the technical age when all of life is lived under a bowl and nothing is left private?

They’re holding me back, they are.

Please note the sarcasm. I do not want any nasty notes about how I need to respect my children and guard their privacy.

Anyhoo, the kids have done and said and written some HI-LAAAAA-RIOUS things as of late. But alas, I will not share it with the world because there will be plenty of opportunity for me to drive my children to a counselor’s office, but oversharing their childhood will not be one of them.

So I’m not really feeling that funny today. I do have a couple of ideas rolling around, though, so stay tuned. I’ll make you laugh again, dear readers. I will make you howl with delight, roar in helpless hysterics, chuckle with amused glee.

Or I will bore you to death.

Today I am going to give you one last sneak peek at the novel. This is the last time I’ll let you see what I’m writing until the finished product is in your hand. I don’t want to give too much away. I want to leave you hanging a bit. To recap, here are the teasers I’ve already let you read:

I think I can, I think I can, I think I can

Another Peek

Okay, so the final peek? Are you ready? Here it is.

A little set up: A young man named Oleg has gone missing. Hans is a German soldier who has fallen in love with Luda. He is helping the family find out what happened to Oleg. I know it sounds confusing. You’ll just have to read the rest of the book to figure it all out!

Hans looks hard at me and I nod, squeezing his hand in reassurance. He nods back, then shifts his gaze to Alexei again.

“Oleg and the other prisoners are being forced to construct a secret hide out for Adolf Hitler. It is to be a place where war time operations are discussed and where Hitler can come to vacation and hide.”

“What?” Baba Mysa gasps and she sinks down into a chair next to her husband. Katya shrinks back against the wall, her hands still clutching her chin.

“Hitler is constructing a hideout in Vinnitsya?” Alexei says, his eyes wide with shock, anger and fear.

Hans nods. “This is top secret information among the ranks,” he says and together he and I sit across from Alexei and Baba Mysa. “They are calling the hiding place Werwolf, or Vervolfy.”

“When will it be completed?” Alexei asks.

“Very soon, I imagine,” Hans replies. “The prisoners are now digging underground tunnels which will work to allow Hitler the freedom to wander from one building to another without exposing himself outdoors. I’m told that Hitler is planning his first stay for July.”

“That’s just a couple of weeks away!” I exclaim and Hans nods soberly.

“There isn’t much time,” he says quietly.

“How is Oleg?” Baba Mysa asks. Her voice is tired and her eyes drawn. This week has aged her.

Hans looks at her closely and I see him judging how much he should admit. “He is tired,” he answers. “And I believe he is sick. All of the prisoners are sick.”

Everyone sits quietly for a moment as we ingest this news. Finally, I speak. “What are we going to do?” I ask.

Hans looks at me and grabs my hand, then he turns to the rest of the group. “I am going to get him out,” he answers. “If I don’t, Oleg will be killed.”

Alexei leans forward and pressing his elbows against the table looking hard at Hans. “They will kill all the prisoners when construction is complete, won’t they?” he asks and Hans nods slowly. Katya begins to weep softly and I feel my hands begin to shake.

“Will you be safe?” I ask.

“Stupid girl!”

We all jump at Katya’s outburst. She shoves herself away from the wall and lunges toward me. Alexei manages to catch her just before her fist hits my face. “You’re worried about this…this…GERMAN while my brother is being forced to build a hide out for the devil?! I hate you! I HATE YOU!”

Alexei drags his daughter from the room as she writhes and squirms in his arms. The tears fall hot against my cheeks and Hans wraps his arm around my shoulders protectively. In the background, I hear my son begin to wail.

“I will get the baby,” Baba Mysa says, standing up slowly. She looks at Hans closely. “I believe Luda, now,” she says. “You are a good man. Forgive my granddaughter’s emotions. Thank you for what you are doing.”

Hans nods and Baba Mysa moves quickly to retrieve Sasha.

“I’m sorry, Hans,” I cry. “I’m so sorry.”

“Ssshhh…” Hans whispers. “It’s okay. I understand. I know that Katya is upset and I believe she has the right to be angry at me. But I don’t like her anger at you.”

“I’m afraid of losing you,” I weep and I bury my face in his chest, his strong arms engulfing me in a tight embrace. “I’m so afraid.”

Hans lets me cry for a moment before pushing me back. He wipes the tears from my cheeks gently and offers a small smile. “I’m afraid, too,” he says. “Which is why I have to do what I’m going to do.”

The sound of his voice stops me cold and I look up at him closely. His eyes burn bright and his jaw is set firmly. “What are you going to do?” I ask.

“I’m going to free Oleg,” he answers. “And then I’m going to kill Adolf Hitler.”

©Kelli Stuart, October 2012

Do you want to read the rest? Great! You can buy it when it comes out, hopefully sometime next year! (Yes, I’m thinking positive).

Filed Under: 31 Days, Novel, writing Tagged With: book, Novel, sneak peek, suspense, writing

The tear in my flesh

October 16, 2012 by Kelli

Jackson Pollack "Autumn Rhythm"

This mothering thing is hard. No one really tells you how hard it will be. Or maybe they try and you just can’t believe it until you live it on your own. No one tells you that your heart will be torn in two and you will go through repeated cycles of trying to figure out who you are and how to match your independent desires with your desires to serve and love your family well.

No one mentions how messy it all is – that the desires will never match up, will never fit and yet somehow it all comes together anyway, but it looks more like a Jackson Pollack painting and less like Michealanjelo.

Before we were mothers, we were all something besides…mothers. We had dreams and longings and aspirations and desires that went beyond cleaning and scrubbing and washing and drying and refereeing and surviving.

When motherhood sets upon us, those dreams don’t disappear, but they do shift. Our desire to be Mommy becomes so much stronger than any other thing we’ve ever felt and we give ourselves wholly and fully to the task and yet….there remains something else inside.

The truth is, I sometimes feel like a big failure for not accomplishing more before I became a Mom. And I fight the feeling of failure for not attaining more even after I became mother. I compare myself to others and I wonder why they seem to accomplish so much and I can barely get through my days.

Then I remember that every journey is different.

I wish I was finished with this novel. I wish I could write it faster. I feel like I’ve failed already for taking so long. But the truth is, this is the best I can do. I cannot stay up until all hours of the night writing, because that’s not how I operate or function.

I can’t do this any faster and still do my job as Mom well. I’m learning to be okay with that.

I wish I had more time. I wish it were easier. I wish I could accomplish more in the few hours I have alone. I wish I could shirk every other duty and focus solely on the one thing I want to do the most – finish this book.

But that is not where life has me right now. Right now I don’t have the solitude needed to be a great writer. I do, however, have everything I need to be a great mother. I have all the tools and all the abilities and all the time to excel in the role that matters most.

I will finish the book. I know that I will. But it’s taking time – so much more time than I want it to. I won’t finish it in the wee hours of the mornings because I must sleep in those hours so that I can be alert to pour all my energy into my number one job. And I will save a bit of time, a bit of energy for the desires and longings that are mine and will work fervently in the little time I have to reach that goal.

But it won’t be a quick ascent. I am the tortoise in this race. I’ll reach the finish line, but only through perseverence because I’ve found that, for me, slow and steady is far more successful than fast and furious. I’m much less prone to burn outs that way.

Lisa-Jo Baker wrote a wonderful post on writing the other day. It has encouraged me so much. If you feel like you’re always a step behind, like you can’t keep up, I suggest you read “If You Wish You had an Island to Write On Alone.” This quote by Madaleine L’Engle bounces off my soul and clangs inside my heart:

“I uncovered the typewriter. In my journal I recorded this moment of decision, for that’s what it was. I had to write. I had no choice in the after. I didn’t matter how small or inadequate my talent. If I never had another book published, and it was very clear to me that this was a real possibility, I still had to go on writing.”

Day 16: If you, like me, feel frustrated with the longings that war against once another, take heart. It will all come together, and though it may look messy and wild, in the end it will be considered a masterpiece.

Image Credit

Filed Under: 31 Days, Life, Motherhood, Novel, writing Tagged With: 31 Days, desires, dreams, Goals, Motherhood, Novel, writing

Believing means doing

October 12, 2012 by Kelli

No post today. Part of believing I can means I have to do it. Today I feel the creative juices flowing and I need to work on my book. I’ve got Hershey’s chocolate by my side, a mug of pumpkin coffee, Mozart playing in the background and two hours to myself.

Wish me luck!

And have a great weekend! Any fun plans on tap?

Filed Under: 31 Days, Novel, writing Tagged With: 31 Days, Novel, writing

Another peek

October 11, 2012 by Kelli

Want another peek? This is Frederick, a Nazi soldier stationed in Kiev in World War II. He is a torn character who is ugly and horrifying and completely and totally sympathetic. I have really loved writing his story.

I was ten years old the first time my father took us all to Berlin. The year was 1934 and the memory dances through my mind in moving pictures, every emotion joined together in fluid motion. I remember the sights and sounds of the bustling city as we exited our train at Berlin’s Lehrter Bahnhof and moved to the Nazi provided car. The officer appointed to transport us was solemn and stern and I shrunk back in fear when he looked at me prompting my Father to pinch the back of my neck in annoyance.

He always hated when I showed any semblance of fear and I felt his disappointment as we slid into the plush car.

That trip to Berlin was the first time that I remember being in awe of my father’s status. He was so revered that as we exited the car, hotel staff hurried to us, picking up bags and rushing to our room to set it up in a fashion that was worthy of someone with such great importance.

We stood in our expansive room on the top floor of the Esplanade and looked out over the beautiful city. Talia and I pressed our noses to the cool glass and pointed out the cars and people walking far below us. I was awestruck at the bustle and energy that buzzed through the city.

“The cars look like small toys,” I cooed just before my father stepped up behind us.

“Stand up children,” he snapped, his words sharp and clipped. Talia and I stood and faced our father, my heart beating like a drum. “Good. Now, who can tell me what we worked on earlier this week.”

Because I was always so frightened of my father, it seemed to take me a long time to register any question he asked. Panic that I would produce an unacceptable answer left me mute. Talia thrust her hand in the air.

“Talia?”

“We learned to remain quiet and calm and to not speak unless asked a direct question,” she said with a smile, her bright red hair cascading over slender shoulders. Father smiled and ran his hand down her cheek.

“Very good, my darling,” he said. “Now, Frederick,” he said turning to me. “How are you to greet any official that walks your way?”

My heart raced as I searched for the words to answer my father. I couldn’t find them, so I merely thrust my arm in the air, straight up above my head. Father sighed and shook his head.

“Yes, Frederick,” he said with a heaping portion of annoyance, “but what do you say when you greet them?”

My hand, still high above my head, shook as I searched for the greeting that I knew so well. Why did I always feel so incompetent in his presence?

Talia snapped her heels together and threw her arm up next to me. “Hile Hitler!” she said, throwing me a sideways glance.

“Hile Hitler!” I repeated after her and Father nodded at us both.

“Very good,” he said. “Now go prepare yourselves for dinner.”

©Kelli Stuart, October 2012

Filed Under: 31 Days, Novel, writing Tagged With: character development, Novel, sneak peek, writing

I think I can, I think I can, I think I can…

October 3, 2012 by Kelli

Ever so slowly, I chip away at my novel. Just like The Little Engine that Could, I find myself slowly chugging up the mountain, straining to reach the top. The problem with writing a novel (particularly a historical fiction novel, which relies as much on historical accuracy as it does creative license) is that it’s an up hill climb the whole time. And simply finding the time to write is proving to be the biggest hurdle of all.

I need another week in California to knock this thing out.

Just sayin’…

Whatcha think, Babe? Think I could sneak away for five more days?

You wouldn’t miss me…right?

*sigh*

Here is another sneak peek at the novel that I am fighting to finish. I hope you enjoy.

Set up: Maria and Polina have been sent from Kiev, Ukraine to Northern Germany to work in a slave labor camp assembling armaments for the Nazi’s. The conditions are poor, just a step above those in the concentration camps.

A deep, rattling cough has settled in Polina’s chest and I see her movements slowing down steadily. She is sick and there’s nothing I can do to stop it. Nothing but offer her half a piece of stale bread and a hand to hold on to in the dark.

It’s been a little over a year since the war began – since everything changed. I have nothing left of my former life but the memories that haunt my dreams – the echoes of laughter and sorrow that mix together in a swirl of black and yellow each night. I worry about Sergei and wonder where he is and what he’s doing. Is he alive? Is he well?

I have convinced myself that Anna is safe and refuse to consider the possibility that she might not be. I’ve heard from the other girls that when they examined our hands at the train station, they were looking for strong hands that could perform hard labor. If the hands looked too soft and the girls too dainty, they were sent to another part of Germany to work as housekeepers or nannies.

I pray this is where Anna is, because then I know she must be safe. In a house full of children with only the chores of cooking and cleaning, Anna will be in her element and it gives me hope for her survival.

I cannot think of Mama and Papa without my chest burning with sorrow. How frightened they must be with all of us gone and no hope for knowing where we are. It is the thought of them that gives me the most heartache.

It’s dark tonight and we are finally heading home. We work sixteen to eighteen hours a day and the labor truly is wretched. We stand the whole time, sometimes lifting heavy containers. My fingers are raw and rough from the long days of moving metal and turning and screwing on the caps that will seal the fate of one of my countrymen.

Polina wheezes steadily next to me, her chest giving off a deep rattle. She is so sick.

“You shouldn’t work tomorrow,” I say, my voice thick with fatigue.

“If I don’t work, they will kill me,” she responds.

“I thought that’s what you wanted,” I answer quietly and immediately regret my words. Polina labors forward a moment in silence.

“Yes,” she says finally. “It is what I want, but…” She grows quiet and I wait as a coughing fit racks her body. Stopping to lean forward, I hear her coughing up fluids and spitting bitterly in the grass at our feet. I cannot see her in the dark, but I can guess that she is spitting out blood and my heart goes cold.

Taking a breath and straightening up, Polina pulls hard on my arm. “Help me back,” she whispers. I hear the sound of the German boots coming up swiftly behind us.

“Walk quickly!” he snaps, jabbing me in the side. Polina and I stumble to catch up to the moving line.

“I don’t want to die at their hands,” Polina whispers, her voice tight and constricted. “I don’t want them to have the satisfaction of hearing me moan as they burn my body alive. I want to die on my own.”

It’s true, what she says. I know that it is. I haven’t seen the ovens where they burn the bodies, but I’ve heard of them. They are real and sometimes girls are still alive when they’re lit. Tears prick my eyes, hot and bitter as we step across the threshold of the camp, our home in hell.

“I just need to lay down,” Polina says and I nod. Most of the girls make their way to the bath house where they will wash off the grime of today’s work, but I turn with Polina and we slowly walk back to the barrack. I pull Polina through the door and set her down gently before heading to the lamp and striking a match to light the wick inside. The single, burning lamp gives a light orange glow which dimly flicks at each barren wall with a sorrowful shadow. I pick Polina up under the arms and drag her to the small pallet on the floor that is left for the sickest girls who are unable to climb into the bunks along the wall.

She is so light, her body nothing but skin stretched taught over bones.

©Kelli Stuart; October 2012

The Nester has issued a 31 Day Challenge in which we write for 31 days on a single topic. Over 1,000 people have joined in and the internet is ripe with learning and encouragement right now. I have chosen 31 Days of Believing I Can. Scroll down for more of what I’m learning as I embrace confidence. Today, I believe I can finish this book…by the time I die. Let’s just go with that.

Are you participating in 31 Days?

Filed Under: 31 Days, Novel, writing Tagged With: 31 Days, Novel, The Nester, writing, writing a novel

One more glance

July 19, 2012 by Kelli

We are on our last days of vacation. Tomorrow, the kids and I begin the two day drive home from Arkansas where we’ve enjoyed a week of swimming and playing with family. I’m tired and looking forward to sleeping in my own bed.

I’m still plugging away on the novel. It’s coming, very slowly but very surely. Some days the words flow freely. Others days it’s like plodding up Everest with a bag of rocks on my back. Some characters are sure and free and beautiful. Others are chunky and in need of a good editor.

But it is coming along.

This character, Maria, is coming into her own. Her story is heart wrenching and a couple of times I’ve had to stand up and walk away, the emotions have run so high. When I told Lee this he looked at me with narrowed eyes. “You know you’re the author, right?”

Yes. I do know that. But sometimes I’m not writing the story.

Kinda weird.

Here is one more piece of Maria’s story:

For three full days we rocked slowly along the tracks, all of us stuffed in tight and wrapped in heat and terror. After the first day, when dehydration and starvation began to set in, emotions ran high. We were a car full of teenage girls, all ripped from the ones we loved and forced into a situation of extreme stress. The tears fell freely and emotions ran hot. By the afternoon of our second day on the train, girls were screaming and wailing. Panic set in and several beat on the sides of the train until their fists were raw and bloody.

Others tried to shut out the wailing. Polina and I wrapped our arms around one another and slid to the floor, each a lifeline to the other. After awhile fatigue set in and most of the screaming faded into pitiful wails.

If the sounds of our enclosement didn’t set me over the edge, the smells threatened to. We all forfeited every bit of dignity we had as time went forward. Girls defecated publicly, and threw up repeatedly from stress and heartache. Even I had to finally give in to the calls of nature and with the deepest of sorrow in my eyes I released the pressure on the floor right where I sat.

Never have I felt such a sense of shame.

Polina did all she could to allow me some sense of dignity. She did not mention it and gently turned her eyes away from me when I could resist no more. And she did not complain when together we finally had to sit in the mess.

By the third day, everyone had made a sort of pile on the floor. In an unspoken agreement, we all allowed the smaller girls to lay on top of the larger ones, making a sort of long patchwork of grief and fatigue.

It was this day that I thought we would die. I envisioned the Nazi’s pulling open the door to find us all rotting in our own stench and somehow I took some comfort in this vision.

But it was not to be so.

Instead we finally pulled into a station and stopped. We had made many stops along the way, but this was the first time that the door was opened. The light that streamed into the cabin assaulted my eyes and left me blind. We were all so weak by this point that the Germans who began herding us out the door had to physically lift most of us and set us on our feet. Polina and I did not let go of one another’s hands. We clung tight as they set us upright and both of us, stiff-legged and squinting, followed the line of females into the unknown.

We were soiled, dirty and smelled of human feces and vomit. We did not look like young girls, but old women who had endured years of abuse. What a difference three days made.

There were four girls who did not make it. I watched as their lifeless bodies were pulled from the train car and tossed on a waiting truck with such indifference that I wondered if our captors were, indeed, even human. How can one witness death with no expression at all?

I don’t understand it.

©Kelli Stuart, 2012

Filed Under: Novel, writing Tagged With: Novel, writing

Livin’ it up in California

June 29, 2012 by Kelli

Last year, right around this time, I came to this beautiful lake house in Northern California and spent five days soaking up wisdom and inspiration from my favorite people in the world.

I’m back here again, still working on the same book, still soaking in wisdom, honored and blessed to have the privilege to come to this spectacular place do the thing I was created to do. I have come down with a nasty cold and my throat feels like it’s been excavated overnight, so I’m not sure how much actual writing I’ll get done today, but I will rest and will go home rejuvinated and renewed.

Have an amazing weekend, everyone!

Take a few minutes to do the things that make your soul sing.

I wrote 22 pages on my novel yesterday. It's hard not to be inspired here.

Yes. We're eating food like this every. single. day.

Filed Under: Novel, Travel, writing Tagged With: California, Novel, Travel, Writer's Retreat, writing

Funky little me

June 21, 2012 by Kelli

I am in a blogging funk.

And also, there are five kids in my house.

So I’m taking some time to stop and breathe deep.

I’ll confess, as a blogger it’s kind of scary to take these little breaks from the blog. Any blogger who says they don’t care about comments or how many readers they have isn’t being fully honest. None of us write online without the hope that someone(s) is reading.

But I’m in a blogging funk. I have bloggers’ block. I don’t know what to write about, what I have to say that is productive to the betterment of the world. Funky funk, funk, funk.

You really have to be careful when typing that word….

I’m sorry I don’t have anything exciting to share with you – anything to change your life today. I can tell you that yesterday I tried out a new hairstylist and let her do my pink and my head ended up looking like a giant piece of Bubble Yum.

It took another hour and quite a bit of highlight, but she managed to get it looking much more natural and normal. I know that’s not going to change your life, but it almost changed mine, so…

See what I mean? Blogging funk.

I should go. I hear the children stirring. If I don’t immediately get them up and moving in a direction of productivity we will never get out the door. It’s like trying to herd a group of electric chihuahua’s.

If you’re a blogger and you’re comfortable sharing, can you tell me what your purpose is in blogging? Why do you do it and what motivates you to keep going? What message do you want to share with the world?

These are all questions I’m having a hard time answering. Because today my message was Bubble Yum hair and electric chihuaha’s…

Filed Under: Random, writing Tagged With: Bloggers block, Blogging, Taking time to breathe, writing

The Novel

May 24, 2012 by Kelli

I’m not going to finish my novel by June 1st. This writing a book thing is hard. Really, really hard. Like child birth kinda hard, complete with back pain from all the hunching over the keyboard.

Today I laid down to take a nap and I was flooded with ideas. My characters began swimming and talking and I decided to listen. I fed my family, packed up my computer and headed out where I promptly grew totally overwhelmed because my fingers cannot type fast enough.

I know where the characters are going, but getting them there takes time and I’m impatient and frustrated and wish I could just get it all out at once. Instead, I type a few pages, my heart starts beating really fast, my pulse quickens and I literally feel like I’m falling – like I’m leaning into the finish line and my feet can’t keep up.

So I have to step away, take a break, then dive back in. Do you know how slow this is going?

I’m almost to 200 pages and their stories are just ramping up. This is the longest labor ever in the history of all time.

Would you like to read one more sneak peek? Okay, good. Because this girl’s story is my favorite and it is the story I simply can’t get out fast enough. So here you have it – this is a bit more of Luda’s story. I first introduced you to Luda in Sneak peek #1. Her story is complex and full of beauty and pain and grief and joy. Isn’t that how life goes?

Beauty and ashes all mixed together.

(Disclaimer – This is the unedited, first rough draft. It’s not perfect, but it is coming out and that is a step in the right direction.)

Leaning back, I turn my face up to the ceiling and take in a long, deep breath. The pieces all began to fall into place. “So my mother was not a whore,” I say, less to him and more to myself. Every single image of my mother that I’d conjured up as a youth came flooding back. Her laugh that sounded like a thousand bells. The sound of her voice singing softly over me. The way her hair swung loosely over her shoulders. Could these be real memories? Could it be that the very few moments I had with my mother had been stored inside of me all along?

“I’m sorry, Luda,” Alexei says quietly, breaking the silence. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t there. I’m sorry that I failed you…and your mother.”

I nod, then ask one last question that has been pressing against my heart like a vice. “What is my mother’s name?”

Alexei’s eyes widen. “He never even spoke her name?” he whispers.

I shake my head no. “He only spoke of her when he was drunk and he always referred to her as ‘My darling,’ in those rare moments. I have never heard my mother’s name.”

“Marianna,” Alexei said and a gentle smile spread across his face. “Your mother’s name is Marianna.”

I nod and my eyes fill with tears. “Thank you,” I whisper. “Thank you for giving my mother back to me.”

Alexei reaches across the table and grasps my hand. “You are just like her, Luda. You are going to be an excellent mother just like she was.”

I nod slowly and allow a smile to form. The first genuine smile I’ve given in months. I look at my stomach and breathe in deep.

Like your mother.

For the first time in all my life, I feel peace.

©Kelli Stuart, May 2012

My new goal is to hit 200 pages by June 27 when I head to California for a writer’s retreat. I’m going to finish this thing, you guys. It’s actually going to happen!!!!

If it kills me…

And it just might…

But let’s hope not because I really need to finish this before I die…

The End.

Filed Under: Novel, writing Tagged With: character development, I'm losing my mind, Novel, writing