By Robin Kaye Last night I met with my critique partners and went over the changes I’ve made to On the Wild Side . As I crawl toward the end of a book—sometimes it feels as if I’m crawling over glass—I find myself going back to tweak a scene here and there, just adding a line or two, or a thought to up the tension or connect the dots so that the big black moment is indeed black and not gray. Although I’m adding a ton of words, it feels as though I’m making little forward progress. A few books ago, I’d probably be freaking out right about now, but since this is my 5th, I’ve learned that ‘looks’ can be deceiving. In a blink of an eye I’ll be typing those dreaded words: The End . Why dreaded, you might wonder. You’d think I’d be thrilled to complete yet another manuscript. Believe me, part of me will be doing my version of the Snoopy Happy Dance while another part morns the loss of my characters. I’ve spent the last six months in their heads. I know their life stories, I’ve laughed and c...
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