Things are different now.

If you look around, you’ll see what I mean. My blog has changed a little. I may introduce more changes, and some things on here will change every time you visit. It’s a metamorphosis of sorts.

I’m morphing.

Out of Time, my new (and first) romantic fantasy will be out in just over two months and I’m a little weirded out by the whole thing. Writing romantic fantasy isn’t like writing a contemporary romance. Not even a little bit. And now I’m in the process of putting the final touches on the manuscript, I’m seized by uncertainty.

What if it isn’t any good?

You see, I know I’m a pretty decent writer. But writing romantic fantasy is so different from writing contemporary romance. There’s all this world-building and character development that’s totally different from contemporary romance. It’s kind of like if I was a painter, and I’d spent my whole life perfecting my technique at painting, but then I decided to try sculpting instead. I’m a really good painter, but until someone actually looks at my sculpture and tells me what they think of it, I don’t have any idea if I’m good at sculpting.

So what do I do to fix things? I spend my afternoon playing with fonts and headers and background colors on my blog. If I’m going to morph into a sculptor of worlds, I need a blog that reflects that, right? So things are different here.

At least some things are different. Others remain the same, like my love of sharing excerpts from my manuscript:

“Um, are you certain about this?” She clung to the railing, trying to talk herself out of her hesitation. “I haven’t climbed trees in a long time.”

“There’s no other way down.” He balanced easily on the branch.

“How did I get up here?”

“I carried you.”

That explained the clean, piney water scent from her memory. But not much else. She narrowed her eyes at him. “You carried me and climbed the tree at the same time?” Her incredulity made her voice rise at the end of the sentence.

“I’m a multi-tasker.” He shrugged. “I had things to do. I have things to do.” He rocked on the tree branch, heel-toe, heel-toe, his movement both impatient and graceful. “Come on.”

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