The past two mornings a couple of guys have come to put really stinky stuff on the hardwood floors in the new kitchen. Even with all of the windows open, the house still smells of chemicals. I was sitting in the middle of it when I came up with some great title ideas, so it can't be all bad, although my contractor says he can't recommend it. Only 71 more hours until I get my washer and dryer back.
One of the best parts of writing is thinking up the next project. Things just sort of float around in the air so that you can grab them, turn them over, and see if there is any there there. The past few days I've been thinking up angles for the new book which may or may not be the mid grade I've been toying with. I still like the concept of the YA Triplets that I wrote a few months ago, but I think the focus needs to change a bit. Agent E came up with some juicy suggestions that I'm mulling over. Apparently, even in the midst of writing about a rampant psychological disorder I can come up with a good romance, so I may head more in that direction next. I have to say, I got all squeee writing this one (and it was a blast), so I might not be able to say no to some more manufactured teenage love angst.
It's a lot more fun write about it than it was actually experiencing it - this time around I can make things come out how I want them to. Not so for a few boys who shall remain nameless in the little beach town where I went to high school. I was 5'10" at the age of 12, so you tell me what my adolescence was like. And people wonder why I became a writer...
On this date: In 1994, Nirvana's Kurt Cobain is found dead.