Escapism

I've suspected it in the past, but now the evidence is unavoidable.  I write as a means to escape.  This holiday was supposed to be spent with my family, entertaining children, doing laundry, feeding the fireplace, wrapping presents.  Instead, I wrote a novel I wasn't supposed to start until next week, when the holiday was over and the kids were back at school.

There's a multitude of reasons that happened.  No, I don't hate my family.  In fact, I love them dearly.  I was procrastinating the parts of the holiday I don't like.  Nope.  Not gonna get specific there, just suffice it to say that I spent more time writing than I did anything else.  Although I did manage to make Christmas happen, although I was not calm, cool, nor collected about the whole thing.

But I banged out the rough draft to Wrecked, which I may changed the name of...It's a shame, because I really like it, but there's about fifty other titles on Amazon with the same name.  I may go for Wrecking Fall, play on Miley Cirus?  Maybe not, I really don't care for Miley...

Next on my agenda: Falling for Hope.  Since I just sent Gambling on Love to my editor, I've got to get Hope ready next.  And due to a couple of great reviews, I've got a new marketing platform for my books...Busy days ahead...Onward and upward!