Well, my friends, I am on a short writing hiatus, so I am sitting down to write…which makes perfect sense, so shut up.

The pig pictured is not Grace or Wilbur/n. She is, instead, my unnamed chamomille filled "stress pig." She works very, very hard. Oh, btw, we did have a pig at Annaly named Chester. Chester died young due to the over-attentiveness of one of our six dogs. SAD. We will def have a pig when we move out to Nowheresville. Who am I kidding? I am married to Eric Hutchins. We'll have an entire zoo.

For the last three weeks I have squeezed in a sprinted marathon to whip Conceding Grace into shape for submission to two agents.  With a lot of help from talented friends who provided feedback to guide my efforts, I hit send Friday night at 7:00 p.m.  By the time I finished, I looked zombiesque from lack of sleep.  Or so Eric tells me.  You be the judge.

Kids, job, and husband mean writing occurs at hideous hours.  And a novel on the brain doesn’t stop for sleep.  It’s all I dream about until it’s done, so nights are restive, not restful.

I already want to to rip it up and try again.  *sigh* But, instead, I am going to take off at least a week from working on novel-length writing, then dive back into the re-creating of Discovering Katie and Leaving Annalise, both of which have their origins in the current version of Leaving Annalise.  I’m needing a different name for Discovering Katie.  That doesn’t even work for me as a working title.  Anyway, they will be my little summer project.

Meanwhile, I booted the diet and exercise to focus on writing, so I’m a quivering blob of goo.  Must get with it!  Also, my 14-y.o. daughter had her 8th grade dance.  Isn’t she cute?

Suz is the one in pink.

Here’s the teaser for Conceding Grace:

A dead man outside her voodoo house Annalise in the Virgin Islands rainforest shatters former attorney Katie Kovacs’ idyllic life on St. Marcos, and the dead pig on the dining room table doesn’t help. Her private investigator husband Nick – who works when the surf is down and he needs gas to take his new plane up – accepts the case on behalf of the dead man’s employer, the Petro-Mex Refinery. While Nick hunts for bad guys, Katie juggles her newborn twin girls (whose christening includes a roasting of the pig) with an active-beyond-cute three-year old son. She longs for the days when she was the toast of the island as the twangy Texas-born half of a singing duo. In the midst of this chaos, a stranger at her door claims Annalise stands on an African slave burial ground and demands cash or he will call the authorities.

Katie’s live-in in-laws help, but her world tips further out of balance when Nick’s plane disappears on a clandestine trip to meet a Petro-Mex witness who has told Nick that the Chihuahua Drug Cartel is behind his co-worker’s death. Katie turns to the local police. They tell her Nick decamped for Mexico with the smoking hot mail order bride of the deceased. With clues from her voodoo house and wild dreams she believes are messages from Nick, Katie island-hops through the Caribbean and right into the middle of the Petro-Mex mess, but soon discovers nothing she believes is quite what it seems.

First three chapters here.

Well, folks, I will share everything I learned about life and writing with you later this week.  Right now, my pillow beckons.




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