I talk about writing in the abstract, and sometimes I post what I write. Those are the ends of the spectrum. But what about the middle?
He couldn’t remember a time before wind. Always, it had followed him. Through his childhood, adolescence, adulthood. The windlings were a race of people born from the very air itself, created from the swirling rage of the gods thousands of years ago.
I am going to make 2019 into my own personal garden.
Here’s a short excerpt from the first scene of the revised version of my WIP.
Hey, checking in here from Liz’s YA Fantasy Land, the home of plot holes upon plot holes upon plot holes.
I finished reading the first draft of the novel I wrote in high school. Here’s the damage.
Here is one of the poems I read at a recent open mic.
I’m going to start submitting my novel in earnest. Join me in my quest!
Since I’m getting back into this writing and blogging thing, I figured I should chronicle my progress with regular check-ins.
… and you’re the only place that feels like home. Here’s to new adventures. New months. I’m going to sing the song of myself.