Me: a couple of months ago: I have this super fun idea! A totally playful series about a dragon archivist tasked with posing as a witch to walk among the Adept while overseeing a magical archive and taking care of her younger brother.
Also me: I mean, sure, Dusk can kick ass but she’s really not all that into it. She’s a collector. It will be about books and artifacts and mythological creatures.
Also, also me: Well, my version of mythological creatures. It is modern times, urban setting, and all.
Me, always: And kissing, of course. Every book needs serious kissing. Hopefully with much tongue.
Me: this morning: Now that the editor has the prequel, I’m going to spend the next week brainstorming and firming up the outline for book one, etc.
Me: end of day: Okay … spent the entire day obsessively outlining and brainstorming. In pencil. I finished the entire freaking outline! Plus numerous scene ideas! And now my hand really, really hurts …
[I pause … thinking … the terrible realization of what I’ve just done sinks in.]
Me, continued: … it … the book … isn’t really … super fun anymore. Playful, yes. But … with consequences. Lots and lots of … consequences. Like mind control, kidnapping, and hearts being ripped out of chests sort of consequences …
So … I guess it’s MY kind of playful?
Okay then.
Apparently, I’m sticking to brand.
But there still aren’t near enough kisses.
Yet.
🙂
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