The danger of reading my own books
But that’s not the rant I want to have today! No… Today I want to talk about what happens when I read a novel I wrote. I want to write the next one! I always think about what happens next, about where the characters end up. In this case, my problem is a supporting character named Colby.
He’s cute, he’s quirky, he has a mouth like, well, a tattoo artist, and he’s stuck between overconfident alpha male and insecurity. Getting used by women has a tendency to do that to a guy, I’d think.
But Colby is a great guy, under all the rough edges and ink. He just isn’t that lucky in love, but he deserves to be. He deserves to face his demons, beat them down, and reign victorious over his own life. He also sounds like a character that is going to be a LOT of fun to write.
But, When We Were Dancing is at the top of my list right now. I can’t do anything until it’s on the shelves – even though I wanna. To pacify myself, I’m spending my time away from the computer (you know, when I can’t be writing) debating his plotline. Now, my only question, is if he ends up with the girl he met in One More Day, or if she breaks his heart, too. Hmm…