For the second time, I took time away from the home, virtually alone, to write. I like to call it a Writeaway
The first Writeaway was in Dublin a year ago. I wandered the streets alone for two days, taking notes for a story set in Ireland, sat in bars alone and wrote, and drank, you guessed it, alone.
Now, I am settled poolside in Palm Springs working on a new book, sitting beside my closest friend, bouncing ideas off her, reading the first four chapters and seeking big picture critique, and then rather frantically writing and rewriting in between dives in the cool water.
Writeaways are the right way for me right now to #FindInspiration.
Manuscript “complete” Ready to share with the world–and send to agents.
Time for the ever important critique partner. Find one here #CPMatch. I hope to too! Start tweeting tomorrow!
Just a little tease….
Pain split my forehead in two. The upper region—the part I was sure was responsible for planning, judgment, decision making, knowing right from wrong—felt like it was wrapped in a two pound bag of hot potatoes. Behind that cranial layer of pressure-cooker mush, hundreds of tiny splinters were being hammered into my eye sockets, deadening my ability to see and move. Nothing, I was convinced, was going to save me from this pain, except perhaps a lobotomy.