Writing books is weird. My newest release was written over a year and half ago. The project I’m working on right now won’t see the light of day until 2019. I’m looking ahead to 2020 to see what kind of openings I have for my next series. With so much advance planning, it’s no wonder that my internal clock is sometimes way off kilter. Take, for example, the holiday novella I’m polishing up and getting ready to format. Inside my head, the world is full of hot cocoa, snowball fights, and Yeti sightings. Outside my house, it’s a hundred degrees and the air is filled with forest fire smoke. I can get away with pretending the forest fire smoke is a Yuletide log for a few hours, but reality comes crashing back when I step outside and all thoughts of crisp winter mornings evaporate off my skin. Literally. As a general rule, I don’t have to be in the right “zone” to write a particular book or scene. I don’t need candlelight and wine to write a love scene (more often than n
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