The Blindman

I am working on a book and the “working title” is The Blindman.

This morning I woke up and had a scene from it mapped out in my head and banging on the sides to get out. Before breakfast, I sat down and wrote 465 words. I’m not sure if this is a chapter or a scene yet. I do like the way James Patterson writes short chapters that are full of action, but I don’t know how many words are typically in each of his chapters. I’m trying to make my chapters long enough to cover the event, but short enough to stay interesting and tightly written. Of course, like all my other writing, except my blogs and sometimes my poems, I will come back to what I wrote today and edit it.

I’m looking at a writers conference I received information on this week. It takes place next year. There is a time during that conference to pitch an idea to an agent. I had thought I’d self-publish this book, but now think I’ll try pitching it to an agent, if I’m fortunate enough to go to that conference.

Writing is often an easy task. I think I must organize my thoughts while I sleep because on good mornings like this, I wake up with words, like energetic children, wanting to be let out to play. I go to my keyboard and they spring from my fingertips onto the page and then I go back when I’m done letting them out and organize them a little better. Then I trust they’ll be ok without my supervision and I leave them until a later date when I come back to be sure they are exactly where I want them.

I love to write. When I was married and stayed home, I wrote while my children napped. But that’s another blog for another day. . .

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