Evening Dermott slammed the door and threw his school bag on the couch. He grumbled his way up the stairs without talking to anyone, and flopped down on the bed. “You have three sneakers on Mom’s duvet,” his little sister said from the hall. “They’re muddy.” Dermott shot a tongue of flame in her direction.
After a month of NaNoWriMo, I’m finally getting back to my pre-existing revision. I don’t want to say I was getting bogged down, or anything, but the novel in question is one of the longest things (word-wise) I’ve ever written. Going from thriller-length thrillers to sci-fi length sci-fis is a culture shock. And I’ve been
I have a few good friends–mostly scattered over the internet–who are writers. I’ve been part of some great communities. Gotten to know people. Had fun with people. Shared ideas with them. And I’m incredibly grateful for the internet. It’s the thing that makes it possible to find people who share my interests and goals. And