I'm on an enforced writing vacation right now.
That's not quite true. I can always write poems, short stories, and articles. But I don't feel inspired today. And I'm anxious to get back to my novels.
Soon, I hope, the editor will send me the final polished ms for my perusal. I haven't read Turbulence for months, and while I could cheat--I have it here on my hard drive--I'll wait to look over that final copy.
After completing Rebounding, many ask when Turbulence will be available. Very soon, I hope.
Then I can get into my other novels, the last ones in the series. I'm anxious to polish Ripples and make it shine. And Silence, which still needs quite a bit of work, taunts me in quiet times like this as I inadvertently remember passages and think of how I can improve them.
All in good time. The writing life is a patient life. One who is not patient should never consider becoming a novelist.
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