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Here I am on a Sunday night at my computer desperately trying to meet my novel deadline (Book 3 of The Entire and The Rose) and my cat insists on being in my lap and not allow me to type very well with my left hand. I allow this, because basically, I’m lonely. Just me and my novel . . .

Perhaps, by the insistent paw on my arm, he’s saying, Man, why bother?

Actually, at this stage of a novel (rewrite) I’m usually–and am this time–fairly euphoric. I still like the thing. I have recently been amazed by the thing. Smoothing out the prose and picking up mistakes is much easier than creating new material. Ah yes, it’s all coming together in a high-stakes, memorable, even brilliant piece of fiction! Or, if not, at least it’s adequate.

I just wish I had a title for the beast. Lou Anders at Pyr has been patiently listening to about three dozen suggestions from me, and shooting them down one at a time, in the nicest possible way. (“Nope.” “Close, but nope”) I trust his instincts completely. Hey, Lou, how about “Book Three?”


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