How Book Babies Are Made (only with a MacBook instead of a typewriter)
We are pregnant. Not with a new child… three is definitely our limit with actual humans, but with a new book. It’s a secret book, only in its most basic stages of conception at this point. It’s a tiny seed just barely fertilized with potential, a flare of emotion, a new voice speaking to us in the night.
It wasn’t intentional. We have our publishing and writing schedule pretty well packed for the next… well, years, probably. We have a whole series of books coming out in The Red Shoe Memoirs (which most will be co-written with the amazing Ally Bishop, after Hitched launches), and we are actively working on The Nightfall Chronicles staring with volume 1 of Court of Nightfall, The Last Nephilim. We also have a sexy mystery series we want to get back to. So we have no business entertaining thoughts of this other secret book, but we are.
We justify this by using our ‘free’ time to fantasize about it. Our lazy Sunday afternoons. Our walks downtown. Our quiet moments of reflection. I knew the first chapter. It harassed me until I wrote it, and once I did, I knew there would be more. This idea won’t give us peace until we finish it.
We don’t have a title, or a plot line, but we have these two characters, this man and this woman, and a mystery, a darkness, a mystical world that co-exists side by side with the one we live in.
We’re pretty excited about it, even as we work on the other series’ we’re also incredibly excited about. I think this is part of being a writer. You can never really use birth control to keep these creative conceptions in their place. There’s no condom to keep the seed of the muse from implanting itself in you.
Every night, every moment, is akin to a drunken night of passion without protection.
So, we’re pregnant again. And it won’t be the last book baby we conceive without planning, without intention. And that’s probably a very good thing.
