So I just sent my newest novel to my terrific agent, Terrie Wolf. I’m a mixed bag of emotions. I can’t wait for Terrie to read it. But what if she doesn’t like it? It’s the baby I painstakingly cared for over the past several months. The literary love that I couldn’t wait to spend time with every day, even on the days it drove me crazy.
And now what do I do? Do I take a break for a couple of weeks? Do I jump into a set of new characters? I can hear their whispers. Will and Fuzz and Krup have been waiting for me to finish this novel so I can dig into theirs, a middle grade
What to do?
Well, I guess I already know the answer to that question. I write. It’s what I do. Every day because there’s nothing I’d rather do. And since Will and his friends have been waiting so patiently, their story will be the next I’ll tell.
Now, to dig in and start it. Here's the beginning.
“Betcha a buck you won’t say it to Mr. Mock,” said Fuzz, wiping his snotty nose on his red baseball shirt.
“You’re gross, dude. Ever hear of tissues? They’re those white things sticking out of that blue box on Mock’s desk. You oughta try using one sometime. Your shirt looks like it’s been slimed by a slug.”
“Don’t try to change the subject.”
“Hear that, Krup? Fuzz thinks I’m trying to change the subject.”
Krup, aka Kenny Krupinski, laughed.
“ I’ll gladly take another buck from you, Fuzz. It’s easy-peasy cash for me.”