Which is not generally the case at my house.
Since today is a workday, not a weekend … when I say sleeping in, I mean the alarm went off at 5:45 instead of 5:15.
Why all this self-indulgent lolling?
I finished my book.
Yes, that same book I emailed to my agent from 40,000 feet in the air. I had no idea what she would think of it, since she’d only read a few chapters previously. And WHEW! She loved it, and so did her reader. (Yay, reader!) Jenn had some notes for me, and I’ve spent the past few weeks revising according to her thoughts.
Now it’s ready to submit to my editor. I don’t have a contract for this book, so it’s possible she may not like it.
But I love it, and have had lots of fun writing it. In fact, I just got an email yesterday from a teen boy reader (hi, Laksh!) who asked, “Is there a sequel to Flash Burnout?”
My answer was, “It’s not technically a sequel, but I’ve written a companion book that takes place in the same high school the following school year. It's told from the point of view of a new main character, but many of the characters from Flash Burnout appear in the story, including Blake.” (I told him I’d let him know if it was ever going to be published.)
I don’t want to get any more detailed than that, since I’m superstitious about discussing a book on submission.
Anyway, I was so happy to finish – imagining slothful mornings of sleep … hours spent on my deck reading someone else’s book, breathing in the scent of jasmine and linden … lots of long dog walks … goofing off with my family …
… and by mid-day yesterday, I was already missing my characters.
Writers are SO WEIRD.
Yes, we know they’re not real people, but try explaining that to our brains … which spend months creating entire worlds full of people with hopes and fears and dark secrets and plans for the future.
I even tweeted that I would be taking a break from writing for the rest of the summer.
WHO AM I KIDDING?
I already have the first line of a new book perched at the forefront of my brain. Pretty soon I’ll have to write it down so it doesn’t start knocking on the inside of my skull. Then I’ll have to follow it with more sentences. Because the story will unfold … tempting me farther and farther down its flowery path until I’m satisfied I have told it as best I can.
But before I start, I think I will sleep in a few more mornings, and enjoy the scent of linden, which will be gone soon:
As I was taking this photo the other morning, the tree was humming with bees. Tiny seed-pod litter – the size of baby fingernails – fell down on me like confetti.