Badass Babes and Buckers

I sat down with my literary agent this week and we hashed out our respective to-do lists. Mine is all about writing. It isn’t all book writing however. I have to write three different bios, fifty words, one-hundred-fifty words, and long (whatever that is). I need to write queries, summaries and tag lines for each of the books. I have to create a tagline for myself. The title of this blog is the one I came up with—writer of badass babes and buckers (as a joke); she didn’t laugh.

On November 1st, I’ll be starting a new book, either LAST (in the East Aurora series), or the fifth book in the Crested Butte series . . . if you’re reading this and want to vote, feel free to tell me which one you’re most anxious for.

The other thing I have to do, and this is the most difficult, is I have to cut about sixty pages out of each of my other books in order for them to meet the submission guidelines for the publishers who have either requested the manuscript or I’ve been referred to. This will be painful. Really painful. I cannot even comprehend doing this. However, I can leave the books at the length they are now, and sell 500 copies, or cut them and sell 500,000 copies. The decision is easy put that way.

I have a class to teach today, and then I’ll come back home . . . and write. My house is clean, my chores are (mostly) done, and for the first time in three weeks, I have a quiet weekend at home. There are no soccer games, basketball games, swim meets, writers' conferences, book tours or out-of-town guests this weekend. I almost don’t remember what a free weekend feels like. I’m anxious for the reminder.

Life is good, great really—a mantra I need to keep repeating. It is easy to get bogged down in the perceived stresses of life, when in reality, the life I lead is a really, really good one. My worst case scenarios are the stuff dreams (not nightmares) are made of. I am very fortunate. Not letting the petty crap in is an every day challenge. Someone this week asked me what was wrong now. I can’t get those words out of my head. That isn’t who I think I am, but obviously it is who I am communicating I am. This weekend will be all about nothing being wrong.

Badass babes and buckers—can’t be too much wrong in my life if that’s what I write. Right?