I had intended on sharing my New Year’s resolutions with you sooner, but my wife’s birthday falls on New Year’s Eve and thus I just now awoke from a sugar- and vodka-induced coma. (My wife is still resting comfortably on our kitchen floor, and she doesn’t even drink vodka. Such a lightweight.)
Now don’t worry—I’m not going to waste your time listing off a bunch of nearly impossible-to-achieve goals for my life. I’m merely going to waste your time listing off a bunch of nearly impossible-to-achieve goals for my writing career. So at least you’ll be bored specifically, not just in general.
Ready? Let’s do this! Following are the key writing-related objectives and milestones I will bust my hump to make happen this year, until I decide they’re too hard.
I will get my next novel out no later than the end of June. This may not seem like an ambitious goal to you, especially considering the end of June’s nearly six months away, but I’m telling you, it’s going to really take something for me to make good on this resolution. For one, I’m getting older and thus don’t spring out of bed or off the kitchen floor in the morning to write like I used to. Secondly, this book is my first with a female protagonist, which means I have to stop to ask Google or my wife questions before writing pretty much every sentence to help conceal my utter lack of understanding of women.
I will get thesequel to my next novel out before the end of the year. Maybe I’m being a tad overzealous here, or it could just be I’m still drunk from my wife’s birthday, but if I really put my writing nose to the grindstone and continue to ride the wave of creativity I’ve been surfing of late, there’s a good chance book two of my upcoming series (which may turn out to be a trilogy) will be available next Christmas. Just don’t expect the story to make total sense or all the words to be spelled correctly. I can’t allow a little thing like editing to stand in the way of such a bold resolution.
I will see to it my novel The Exit Man finally gets the green light for a TV series. I realize if I don’t make good on this resolution, I’ll likely become known as the boy who cried Exit Man. In my defense, I really did think the book would make it to the small screen when I announced that HBO optioned it in 2015, and I really thought so again when I announced that Showtime optioned it in 2017. But, alas, it didn’t quite work out either time. That said, there is renewed Hollywood interest in The Exit Man. This time a couple of women (an accomplished TV writer and my new agent) are leading the charge, and considering how women have been kicking ass and taking names in Tinseltown of late, I’m feeling more hopeful and invested than ever. I might even consider gender reassignment surgery if that’ll help tip the scales in my book’s favor.
I will be able to live off my earnings as a novelist before year’s end. Don’t let the fact that I have a roof over my head and a car and all my teeth fool you; I’m just a divorce away from being homeless. My wife has been the main breadwinner in our household since 2014, when the business she started in 2013 took off—and when she convinced me to quit my real job to write fiction full-time (she really had to twist my arm). While I do work hard as a writer and have managed to gain some nice accolades and build a decent-sized readership, my teenage daughter working at a local Italian restaurant earns triple what I do as an author. But 2019 is going to be my year. The year when all the books I’ve poured my heart and soul into for nearly a decade will earn me almost as much money as my daughter makes from “Do you prefer meat or cheese tortellini?”
I will get my writing workshop for incarcerated individuals off the ground. Back in late May, I announced my plans to lead a creative writing workshop—“The ‘Write to Be Free’ Project”—inside some correctional facility near my home in Austin. And while I’ve since passed the background check (apparently the Texas Department of Criminal Justice hasn’t read my novels), completed the orientation training that all approved volunteers must undergo, and created a detailed outline of my proposed curriculum, I’m still waiting for final approval of the workshop. The TDCJ is not fully to blame for the delay—I haven’t been following up as often as I had been this past summer and fall, so it could be the prison powers that be have decided I lack the passion and commitment required to risk my life to help inmates find their writing voice. It’s up to me to prove them wrong, which I am going to do as soon as I become an expert in the deadly art of Krav Maga.
I will not allow my total obsession with writing to keep me from being the best damn father, husband, son, brother and friend a totally obsessed writer can be. Does this mean I’ll stop screaming at my wife or daughter for breathing too loudly anywhere near the door to my writing office? Of course not. Nor does it mean I’ll be lifting the ban against daytime phone calls, text messages or visits from my parents, brother and friends. However, this year I do vow to be more caring, present and accessible to all the important people in my life—between the hours of 8 p.m. and 8:15 p.m., weekends only.
If you’re a writer, feel free to share one or two of your writing-related resolutions for 2019. If you’re a reader, feel free to share one or two of your reading-related resolutions. I you neither read nor write, feel free to share why the hell you bothered popping by my blog.
Regardless of whether you leave a comment, HAPPY (belated) NEW YEAR!
‘Tis the season for giving, and after spending much of last week shamelessly promoting one of my novels that was on sale, I’m ready to get into the true holiday spirit and focus on my fellow woman and man. Trouble is, I earned less than a dollar for every copy sold during the aforementioned sale, and thus can afford to give gifts only to imaginary people. (My family isn’t thrilled about this, but in my defense, they’re used to me disappointing them.)
So let’s get this merry freakin’ party started. Below are the names of some of my all-time favorite fictional characters, along with what I feel is the perfect present for each.
NOTE: Included in this list are the protagonists from my own novels. I did this not to be self-promotional, but rather because these characters would surely murder me if I didn’t list them and get them gifts. (They’re all still a bit upset with me for nearly getting each of them killed while writing their story.)
Tyler Durden(Fight Club)
Perfect gift: A hospital-grade first-aid kit.
I thought about getting Tyler a prescription for extra-strength Ambien or an elephant tranquilizer to help with his insomnia, but then realized that he, if well-rested, might be a bit of a snooze. I believe one of the greatest gifts in life is the ability to be fully self-expressed. And for someone whose full self-expression is repeatedly punching others and himself in the face until unconscious—one of the greatest gifts you can give is a portable pack containing smelling salts, surgical gloves, hydrogen peroxide, Dermabond, sterile gauze, adhesive tape, bandages, scissors, a splint, fentanyl patches, and, of course, soap made from human fat.
Lisbeth Salander (The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo)
Perfect gift: Access to Larry Nassar, Jerry Sandusky, Bill Cosby, et. al.
For those of you who are familiar with Lisbeth Salander, the above gift needs no explanation. For those of you who aren’t, she’s everyone’s favorite vigilante rape-survivor hell-bent on destroying men guilty of sexual assault.
Now, I’m not saying violence is ever the answer. Of course, as a man, I don’t get to say what the answer is when it comes to what women like Lisbeth have been through. What I can say, however, is, “Enjoy the gift, girl!”
We all have that one friend who runs a party supply store and lives a secret double-life as a mercy killer helping terminally ill individuals end their lives with dignity. My friend like that is Eli Edelmann, and boy is he going to be tickled when he unwraps a set of helium tanks that can’t be tracked to his own store, and that are each just small enough to fit inside the duffle bag he brings on house calls. I just hope he didn’t get me the same gift.
Celie (The Color Purple)
Perfect gift: A tabono tattoo.
A tabono is an African symbol representing strength, perseverance, persistence and purposefulness. Sure, I could get Celie a tabono pendant instead of a tabono tattoo, but pendants can be easily broken. Tattoos—just like Celie—cannot.
Whether you’ve read the book or seen the movie, or both, you know Celie embodies the strength of the human spirit and the power of forgiveness. You see her transform from a wounded, mercilessly abused woman to a strong, independent and loving individual. Granted, there’s that one really gross scene where she spits in Mister's father's glass of water, but that scene reveals how Celie—even when terrified—simply won’t stand for anyone messing with the people she loves. We should all strive to be as deserving of having a tabono carved into our flesh as Celie is.
Offred (The Handmaid's Tale)
Perfect gift: Membership to a “rage room.”
What do you get the girl who has everything … taken from her by a dystopian totalitarian patriarchal state? Well, the top two gift items that pop up when you Google this question are 1) a cyanide pill, and 2) the opportunity to smash solid objects to smithereens with little risk of getting publicly hanged by theonomic dictators. Maybe it’s just me, but I don’t think cyanide says “happy holidays” quite like taking a baseball bat to glass does.
Rage rooms started popping up around the globe about four or five years ago, and have really spiked in popularity since around November 8, 2016. And while most rage-room patrons report that five to ten minutes of obliterating old TV sets and dinnerware is enough to get rid of years of pent-up fury, I feel that ten minutes wouldn’t be enough for Offred to get rid of even one morning of pent-up fury. Thus, I’ll be gifting her a rage room Platinum Membership, which includes unlimited visits as well as super-secret transportation to and from the venue in a camouflaged Tesla.
After all that’s happened to Gage Adder—his divorce, his stage-IV pancreatic cancer diagnosis, his having no other choice but to murder a friend—he could really use a victory. And while Lisbeth is not exactly the type of woman to allow a man to set her up on a blind date, once I tell her about Gage’s affinity for poisoning rapists and other miscreants, she’ll at least be down for a coffee with the guy. Granted, Gage’s inoperable cancer is likely to put a damper on any long-term romance, but even if he and Lisbeth end up just being friends for a few months, it could result in some truly beautiful and meaningful executions. And isn’t that really what the holidays are all about?
Amy Dunne (Gone Girl)
Perfect gift: A ride-along with a crime scene investigator.
Brilliant sociopaths are often forgotten about during Christmas, and that’s sad. When I think of the joy—well, maybe not joy, considering she is a sociopath—that Amy will experience upon discovering that someone cared enough to get her a present that taps her most dangerous strengths, it gives me goosebumps.
I really did put a lot of thought into this gift. Amy will be totally in her element, and the CSI agent she rides along with will be shocked by her natural aptitude. After all, Amy is always three steps ahead of everyone—and devious enough to get away with planting fake evidence to catch those for whom there isn’t sufficient real evidence. Just ask her husband.
Humbert Humbert (Lolita)
Perfect gift: Androgen deprivation therapy (ADT).
I had to think long and hard about what to get Humbert for the holidays—just like I’ve had to think long and hard about why I and so many other people root for such a dangerous malcontent whenever we read Lolita.
A little about my choice of gift for Humbert: ADT is a drug treatment that involves the reduction of male hormones—especially testosterone—in a sexual deviant’s system. A sort of chemical castration, if you will. Perhaps I’m being a little too sympathetic toward Humbert, but I feel it would be overly barbaric to physically castrate him, and a shame to drug him out of his brilliant mind with heavy doses of anti-depressants. I mean, c’mon—Humbert is witty, charming, cultured, refined. Once you remove his pathological obsession for prepubescent girls, he’s a helluva guy.
Two years traveling the world posing as a pedophile to catch sex traffickers and rescue young girls can really take its toll on one’s body and mind. And marriage. Zero Slade is living fictional proof of that. Add in the stress of trying to beat an opioid addiction following a recent overdose and getting shot during a recent sting operation, and I think you’ll agree Zero deserves a day of pampering—almost as much as his tough yet devoted wife Neda does. After a full six hours of deluxe spa treatment that includes Swedish massages, organic double-exfoliation facials and warm agave nectar pedicures, Zero and Neda are going to feel so rejuvenated, they just might stay married for another year or two.
To help ensure an ideal spa experience and keep Zero’s mind off of work, I told the spa manager that no female staff from Asia, South America, Central America or Africa who are young enough to possibly be mistaken for minors are to come anywhere near the couple during their visit. Thus, the manager has arranged for all the treatments to be provided by two former Ukrainian weightlifters. Each of these women will be given special instructions on how to carefully work around Zero’s entry and exit wounds.
Jean Louise "Scout" Finch (To Kill a Mockingbird)
Perfect gift: Two rocking chairs and a large bouquet of flowers.
Such items may seem like odd gift choices for a young girl like Scout. That’s because they’re not actually for her. Scout being one of the most sensitive and thoughtful children in all of fiction (and all of nonfiction, for that matter), there’s nothing she’d want more for the holidays than to do something for others less fortunate than her.
The two rocking chairs? They’re for Scout to give to the severely misunderstood recluse Arthur “Boo” Radley, so that she and Boo can sit together regularly on his porch—where she’ll no doubt talk his ear off apologizing to him on behalf of the entire town. As for the bouquet of flowers, those are for Scout to set on Tom Robinson’s grave—where she’ll no doubt talk his ear off apologizing on behalf of humanity.
Odessa Scott: (title classified) [Sorry, can’t share the name of my upcoming book—coming soon to an Amazon near you!]
Perfect gift: A very secluded tiny-house and art studio.
Who here doesn’t struggle each year to come up with the ideal holiday present for the agoraphobic artist in their life who’s wanted in several states for forgery and murder? And yet, despite the hassle, we always seem to find ourselves going the extra mile for these troublesome, creative felons we know and love.
Man, I can’t wait to see the look on Odessa’s face after I blindfold her and drive her out to the tiny-house and separate tiny-studio I bought for her in a remote area of the Davis Mountains in West Texas. Hopefully Odessa will enjoy many years hiding out there, painting abstract expressionistic masterpieces before the law catches up to her. And hopefully she’ll keep my name out of her mouth when they do. Because unlike Odessa, I can’t imagine myself in prison.
Who are some of YOUR favorite literary characters, and what's the perfect gift for them? Share in the comments section below.
Usually when the Kindle version of one of my novels goes on sale for $0.99, I write up some quick, clever promotional message to entice readers to shell out a measly buck for the book.
Not this time.
This time, the book on sale is In Wolves’ Clothing, a novel that centers around the horrific world of child sex trafficking. Needless to say, the topic is nothing to laugh about … unless your job is to save children caught up in the nightmare of it, in which case humor is an essential tool. For survival.
Just ask Zero Slade. Zero, the protagonist of In Wolves’ Clothing, travels the globe posing as a sex tourist to help capture traffickers and rescue girls as young as five from the world’s fastest-growing crime circuit. In between the physically dangerous and emotionally taxing missions Zero’s been leading for the past seven years, he and his undercover cohorts often joke around. It’s either that or self-destruct, and the latter isn’t conducive to putting away pimps or liberating children.
To help sell the book during this promotional period, I could try to be funny and cute. I could write something such as, “Nothing says ‘Happy Holidays’ like human trafficking.” But we all know such copy is neither funny nor cute.
So, given all that, some may ask why “dark comedy” and “dark humor” are among the categories that In Wolves’ Clothing is listed under on Amazon. It’s a fair question, the answer to which is simply this: I tried to capture the truth.
As part of my research for the book, I interviewed a man by the name of Radd Berrett, who, for two years, did in real life the kind of work Zero Slade does in my novel. For two years, Radd rubbed elbows with traffickers on nearly every continent, playing the role of the worst type of man you can imagine, putting his life at risk for the sake of the Lost Girls. And for two years, whenever a mission ended, Radd and his colleagues would rely on humor (along with—understandably yet sadly—pain meds and liquor) to help them make it to the next mission. Every time I spoke to Radd on the phone and asked him to tell me more about the work he did, he’d make me laugh so hard I’d cry. And I’m not talking tears of joy.
I sent Radd the manuscript for In Wolves’ Clothing and asked him to read it prior to publication last fall. I told him I was a little concerned about the direction I chose, the darkly humorous voice and tone that echoed throughout the story. Radd called me three days later, thrilled about how the book turned out. “Man, how’d you do it?” he asked. I thanked him sincerely for the praise, and said, “The much more important question is, ‘How did you?’”
Soon after the book came out in October 2017, it received very positive reviews from such literary heavy-hitters as Publishers Weekly and Midwest Book Review. And yet, as happy as those reviews made me, the testimonial I’m most proud of, by far, came from the man who experienced first-hand the kind of hell I put my protagonist through over the course of 273 pages:
"Truly original and enthralling. Levin's blazing prose and acerbic wit capture the madness and the humanity of working undercover in the darkest corners."—Radd Berrett, former Jump Team member, Operation Underground Railroad
But honestly, it’s Radd and the many other men and women dedicated to battling the biggest scourge of our time who deserve a rave review.
That's why I wrote the book.
Speaking of which, the Kindle edition ofIn Wolves’ Clothingis on sale for just $0.99 on Amazon (US and UK only) for a very limited time. If you haven’t read the book yet, now’s a good time to check it out.
No joke.
(For those of you in the US, click on the red title above. For those in the UK, click here. And thank you!)
A few months ago on this blog, I mentioned that my friend and fellow author of dangerous tales—RD Ronald—was creating a website for folks who like to read (and write) fresh, edgy fiction. Well, the wait is over … the site is now ready for primetime!
Go ahead, click the link. It’s totally safe—assuming you like books that aren’t.
For those of you who are unfamiliar with transgressive fiction, you’re probably more familiar than you think. I’m betting you’ve read or heard of many transgressive novels, or at least know of the movies based on the masterpieces. Does Fight Club ring a bell? How about Trainspotting? Or American Psycho? Or The Exit Man? (Okay, so maybe you haven’t heard of that last one, but you can’t blame a guy for trying to stand on the shoulders of giants.)
For those of you who like your literary terms more clearly defined, I’ve got you covered … well, Wikipedia does anyway:
Transgressive fiction is a genre of literature that features characters who feel confined by the norms and expectations of society, and who break free of those confines in unusual or illicit ways. Because they are rebelling against the basic norms of society, protagonists of transgressive fiction may seem mentally ill, anti-social or nihilistic.
Yeah baby! Who doesn’t love rebellious and unstable sociopaths.
Despite its key themes and characteristics being so appealing to mass audiences, transgressive fiction is considered a fringe genre—if considered a genre at all. TransgressiveFiction.infois out to change that. There are too many formulaic thrillers and mysteries lingering on bestseller lists these days. TF.info aims to shine the spotlight on the most original and daring books out there—by authors living and dead (though rarely both). Some of the featured authors are famous, others soon-to-be so.
So click the link and have a look around the site. I think you’re going to like it—especially if you dig stories that challenge, unnerve and surprise as much as they entertain, awaken and inspire. Stories with characters you wouldn’t be caught dead with but can’t stop rooting for. Stories that, well, transgress.
On behalf of RD Ronald and all the authors featured on TransgressiveFiction.info, thank you for helping to spread the word about the site. (Yeah, I know you haven’t said you’d help, but I’m feeling presumptuous today.) If there's a book/author you feel deserves a spot on the site, you can send RD a message via the TF.infoContactpage. Or just leave a comment here on my blog and I'll make sure RD sees it. Oh, and be sure to follow TransgressiveFiction.info onFacebookand Twitter.Thanks again, and happy dangerous reading!
Thanksgiving is a time for those of us in the U.S. to get together with family and express our gratitude for all that is good in our lives and the world—and a time to sneak off and work on your manuscript while everyone in the house is too drunk and/or full and/or busy arguing about politics to notice. Needless to say, it’s my favorite holiday.
While I'm looking forward to tiptoeing away from the turkey carcass next Thursday to write, right now I'd like to thank all the people who’ve kept me wanting to write. This is not to imply that I’ve been thinking of giving up writing. That would be like me giving up oxygen. However, I must acknowledge that bringing enthusiasm, passion and originality to the page every day—in a profession where commercial success is elusive and effort often goes unrewarded—can be challenging.
The support and encouragement I’ve been lucky enough to receive from so many wonderful readers over the years inspires me to continue giving everything I’ve got every time I sit down to write. That's why I'm sending out a huge THANK YOU to everyone of you who’ve done even just one of the following:
Subscribed to my mailing list.
Remained subscribed to my mailing list even after I used it to promote one of my novels.
Purchased one of my novels.
Purchased one of my novels and actually read it.
Borrowed one of my novels from a friend or library.
Lent one of my novels to a friend or donated it to a library.
Told a friend they could no longer be your friend if they didn’t read one of my novels.
Told your library it could no longer be your library if it didn’t carry one of my novels.
Threatened to release thousands of cockroaches and/or wasps inside a bookstore if it didn’t stock one of my novels.
Took the time to review one of my novels on Amazon and/or Goodreads.
Sent me a message via email or social media to let me know you enjoyed one of my novels.
Sent me a bottle of vodka or bourbon to let me know you enjoyed one of my novels.
Chose one of my novels for your book club.
Asked Oprah to choose one of my novels for her book club.
Named one of your pets or children after a one of my characters.
Legally changed your name to that of one of my characters.
Broke up with/divorced your significant other because they refused to read one of my novels.
Hired a babysitter so you could finally finish one of my novels.
Confessed to a crime I committed, thus enabling me to continue writing novels without supervision.
Served as a member of my “launch team”—a group of awesome individuals that reads advanced copies of my novels before they’re officially published, then helps to build some early buzz via word-of-mouth, reviews, tweets, public graffiti, and, of course, testimonials on stadium Jumbotrons.
As much fun as I’m having with these bullet points, I’m going to take a break from them now to give ULTRA-SPECIAL THANKS to a couple of readers I’ve been meaning to give such thanks to for a while now:
Angie McMann.Every once in a while a reader who’s not your mother comes along and tells you they think you’re going to be the next big thing in fiction. Then you find out the reader was off their meds, and you go back to feeling insignificant. (And call your mother.) So when Angie McMann—an avid bookworm and an author herself—bought seven copies of my novel The Exit Man for friends in 2015 and asked if I’d autograph them before I got too famous to contact, I assumed she had escaped from an institution. Turns out she was just appreciative and generous.
Not only has Angie bought multiple autographed copies of each novel I’ve published since, she continues to spread the word about my writing to fans of dangerous fiction, and often sends me praise and witty words of encouragement by way of email, Facebook, Twitter and my blog. And as if all that weren’t enough, she eagerly volunteered to proofread the final version of my last two manuscripts before they were published—and ended up catching numerous typos missed by my professional proofreader, who hopefully isn’t reading this.
I’m still not famous like Angie predicted, but she insists I’ll be a household name soon. I just hope it’s for writing and not for some horrible crime I end up committing out of artistic frustration. But even if I do remain just a midlist author, it certainly won’t be due to any lack of effort on Angie’s part. She truly is a writer’s dream—no, not the dream where your keyboard turns into a blowfish that convinces you in Japanese to exhume the body of James Joyce. The other dream.
Debbie Lavender.Debbie is the meanest reader I love. And the reason I love her is her meanness is really just honesty that’s brutal enough to make me a better writer (but still not as good a writer as I could be—just ask Debbie).
I lived next door to Debbie the two years I lived in New Orleans, over a decade ago. Every night, Debbie (a brilliant lawyer and literature junkie) would sit on the porch—of a home once owned by author Richard Ford—with a glass or bottle of wine in one hand and a giant novel in the other. Whenever she’d see me getting out of my car or catch me stumbling home from one of my seventeen favorite bars in our neighborhood, she’d call me over to offer me a drink and tell me why whatever literary masterpiece she was reading at the time was garbage. So, naturally, I asked if she’d read the manuscript of my debut novel.
I still have scars on my psyche from the editorial feedback she provided following that reading. Gruff notes about plot holes and pacing and narrative structure. I didn’t end up making many of the changes she suggested. That’s why most of you have never heard of my debut novel, and why it’s now out of print.
I moved to Austin following Hurricane Katrina in 2005, but I continue to send Debbie the final manuscript of every novel I write, asking her for feedback on it prior to its publication. It’s not that I’m a glutton for punishment, it’s that I really want to see if I can dazzle the crankiest, bluntest and brightest reader I know. And I know that deep down, beneath all the angry question marks and explanations points and expletives Debbie scribbles in red ink all over my manuscripts, she’s rooting for me to dazzle her. Hopefully I’ll succeed in doing so before she murders me for failing to.
Several others. I know above I said “a couple,” but I’d be an idiot if I didn’t give special thanks to just a few more people who’ve gone above and beyond for me as readers, keeping me inspired to grind out decent and dangerous fiction most days. These folks include:
J.R. Hardenburgh. A slightly kinder and gentler version of Deb Lavender (see above), J.R. reads all my stuff and, while a proponent of my books and writing, he doesn’t pull punches whenever he feels I could have done a better job with a plot point or a final scene or a blog post title. And he’s usually right.
Amy Shipper. Amy, with whom I worked briefly at a publishing firm in NYC in the early 1990s, not only read the weird satirical shorts I used to write back then, she made the mistake of telling me I had actual writing talent. So you can blame her for my books, which she always buys—and then forces everyone in her inner and outer circles to do the same. She’s perhaps the nicest person I’ve ever met; still, you’d better do as she says or she’ll cut you.
Yael Schonfeld. Few things are better than being one of just a dozen writers selected by your favorite author (Chuck Palahniuk) to participate in his inaugural ten-week writing workshop. And one of those better things is having a fellow participant as selfless, kind and encouraging as Yael Schonfeld around to help you survive said workshop. I’m not saying getting your work-in-progress critiqued by the iconic author of Fight Club is daunting, I’m just saying it can make you question why you ever became a writer and whether you even deserve to live. Week in and week out, Yael not only picked herself off the mat after having her wonderful work punched in the face by Chuck and the gang, she helped everyone else to their feet so they, too, could avoid a career-ending knockout during the fight of their lives.
Miranda Burnet. I’ve already thanked (and apologized to) my wife via this blog a couple of times in recent months, but the thing is, I could do so a thousand times and it still wouldn’t be enough to express what Miranda has done for me and my writing career. She’s not only the reason I have had time to write and publish three semi-successful novels over the course of three years, she’s the reason I believed I could. And continues to be. Sometimes, after a couple of bad writing sessions or when my books aren’t flying off Amazon’s virtual shelves, I’ll stomp around and declare it’s just not worth it for me to continue grinding out 250-page stories, that I don’t care any more, that I give up. But rather than pity me, Miranda will ignore me. She does so because she knows my angry declarations are ludicrous—and because she knows I know that. So she’ll wait for me to finish ranting, then tell me to get back to work. She’ll tell me I don’t have a choice. She'll tell me I'm a writer and writers write. And she’ll tell me readers—more of them than I can imagine but not more than she can—await.
Who or what are YOU most thankful for as a reader or a writer? Please share in the comments section below. Oh, and if you are one to celebrate it, Happy (early) Thanksgiving!
