So sorry! I forget to post yesterday.
Too much stress.
So THURSDAY
1. Post your beginnings from last week’s writing–IF you want to share. I am very excited about what you have done.
2. Post your favorite song to write to.
3. LOTS of prizes–new-and-never-used-before prizes–at the Writing and Illustrating for Young Readers conference this summer. So far I am hearing about guest critiques, critiques from the conference, time to talk career with an agent, month-long mentors, free books, and more! Those of you who have already registered, please let your friends know about the conference.
And FRIDAY
(That’s today!)
How are you all doing with writing? With the important stuff?
Ann Dee’s baby is sweet and beautiful and he LOVES me!
(The most important thing I accomplished this week . . . Getting to see my friend. And her baby. I am so lucky to know Ann Dee Ellis.)
I’m reading parts two novels for others and making comments. I hope to finish those both today.
I received pages for THE HAVEN that I have to go through. Plan to work on that today. I have to really take my time. That book was a bear.
And here was the biggest thing I did as far as writing–I sent a proposal for a sequel to The Chosen One.
I know. I can’t believe it either. I can already see all my writing friends’ face. Shock.
Mostly, though, what I have been worrying over is where we will live.
So hard, this not knowing.
So keep the Williams’ Girls in your prayers, if you have time.
Know that we love all of you out there.
And Happiest Writing Weekend!
Throwing Up Words 
Okay, okay. I won’t be a coward. Here is the beginning of ( the climax) what I wrote last week. Rough. Tell me if I post too much.
And sometimes I like to write to Philip Glass, the smooth stuff. Not cat in the blender stuff.
Uncle George glowed bluish in the darkness, going down, down, down and then twisting through passages like a kite caught by sudden gusts, whipping around corners.
Oscar held tight onto his flashlight, but didn’t use it unless he had to. If he could keep up with his uncle, Oscar could see well enough–though Uncle George seemed dimmer to Oscar than other ghosts. But Oscar saved the flashlight for the times when Uncle George rippled far ahead of Oscar, a pinprick of blue light as distant as a star. Then he’d switch it on and yell until his uncle came back for him, not daring to move. Oscar didn’t know how much battery life the flashlight had, and he was afraid of being without light. Waiting for his uncle, in the dark.
Sometimes the tunnel thinned, and Oscar scraped his body through tight places. His jacket ripping and buttons scratching against rock. Other times he felt like he was in a cathedral.
One large room seemed to be made of bones, fitted together with the heads all in a row up top, looking at him. He thought of them turning at once, like a wave, empty sockets straining to see who’d come into their resting place.
WOW ! ! ! Thanks.