As you know, I finished my 460-ish page novel, and am currently editing the pages. I am thoroughly excited about this opportunity because it has taken me 3 years to write the novel. I have been trying to write a book since I started writing my first when I was around 8. I remember it well. It was before homes computers. I took an empty journal from my bedroom shelf and began handwriting the book. The book was about Rose and Caspian. In my 8-year old experience, I wrote about a romantic relationship between the two main characters. Unfortunately, I did not finish the story until I was around 12, in which, at that time, I had developed into my preteen 90s self, and completely took the storyline for a scientific "portal to the 70s" theme. Oh well, I tried. In the meantime, I wrote and illustrated several children's books and character drawings.
I really did have the intention of becoming a writer. *sigh*
Now, 20 years after *starting* my first novel, I FINALLY complete one. It is in a series, but the second book is only in it's beginning stages. I do know the ending to the entire series though, and it gives me chills every time I reply it in my head. Being a single mom and unemployed, I have very little time amongst my job hunting and motherly duties to edit my book and continue writing my second. I guess internally, I am hoping to pull a "Stephanie Meyers" (I know...*grudge* i did say it) and write my book, publish my book, and provide for my son. This, of course, is without the vampires and werewolves. My novel is more adult-themed...you may relate it to a less extreme Game of Thrones. I like to think of it as a non-historically based, Mists of Avalon.
Bare with me, my exhaustion has kicked in and I am becoming more distracted with the thought of sleep! Just to give a brief encounter with my novel, below is an excerpt from the beginning of the novel.
She dreamt it again last night, this time she could feel the cold metal on the nape of her neck. She could feel the hard rhythmic beating of her heart, blood rushing like fire through her veins, the sweat dripping down toward her breasts. Was this it? She sighed deeply, “Please purge me of my sins and forgive me of my relentless attempts to carry this burden alone. I am no hero. I am no sorcerer. I am Mora, daughter of Merian. For hundreds of years humanity has yearned to possess the knowledge I hold, millions have died to capture a glimpse of the mystery behind my eyes. There is nothing left but I; greed and temptation have betrayed my trustful nature. I am alone in my quest until the day my dreams become reality.”
I do not want to give away too much in a blog...it seems sketchy. I do not want to play with fire for those who do not respect the statement, "MY WORK IS COPYRIGHTED!" Therefore, the details will remain a mystery until I decide to reveal more. *wink*
That ends our nightly escape. I need to drift into the nighttime lands of imagination, wonder, and amazement.