Elysium by Nora Sakavic

When people ask me what I’m writing these days, it’s generally easiest to just say “Nothing”. It’s the truth—and yet somehow also as far from the truth as possible. Coming out of The King’s Men, the only thing I knew for sure was I didn’t want to work on another trilogy yet. I wanted something shorter, something compact, a standalone I could start and finish and set aside. Finding something suitable, however, has proven to be a monumental challenge. The Foxhole Court was a personal project, and it took seventeen…

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For Bowie by Francesca Lia Block

“Mom, David Bowie died,” my daughter says. It’s seven in the morning on January 11, 2016 and she’s supposed to be getting ready for school, not on her phone, but I’m too tired to argue with her. I’d been up since six staring at the computer screen, trying to write bad erotic romance e-books to pay the bills until I can shake myself out of a year-long creative slump in an almost thirty year career as an author. The wing of black liner that she sweeps expertly above the deep…

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How Do You Write With Kids? by Genevieve Turner

It’s a question that all writers with small kids get: “How do you write with kids?” Since I have three little ones myself and I’ve been writing for six years now (back when I only had one and was pregnant with the second) I get this question a lot. As soon as I admit my kids’ ages (8, 5, and 3), this question pretty much immediately falls from the other person’s mouth, without fail. And then comes my answer, which hasn’t changed much since my third was born: “I don’t…

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Only Words by Emma Barry

My pen scritches on the page like Mr. McGregor’s garden hoe in the Peter Rabbit book I’ve read out loud five times today. But I have no vegetables to show for my efforts, only words. I’m wedged on the couch between my five-year-old twins. They’re absorbed in WordGirl; I’m trying to draft chapter twenty. I steal ten minutes before putting down my pen. I woke at 4 a.m. to get in a good hour or two. I lost a decent chunk to Nate Silver-induced polling anxiety. I’ll take more time…

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Learning to Say No by Elyse Springer

On a quiet Tuesday afternoon in March, I got a phone call from a publisher: they were accepting my novel for publication. It was the first acceptance I’d ever received. Let me tell you what that feels like: Euphoria. It feels like Christmas Day and winning the lottery and being handed your dreams on a silver platter. It’s black text on a white screen that says, “You aren’t just a writer; you’re an author.” It is the best feeling in the entire world. But reality hits pretty quickly. I had…

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When Inspiration Strikes…with Murder by Kris Ripper

This one time…I was thinking about writing a series of romance novels. I wanted to emphasize queer community, and set books in a close-knit group of folks. As I was making notes for each book, and mind mapping how they were going to tie together, I had this sudden idea. I always loved murder mysteries. Like really loved them. And in the space between lifting my pen from the paper and putting it down again my brain had slipped a murdery subplot over the plots for all five books. Let…

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The Girl Who Loves Love by Jenn Proffitt, Heroes and Heartbreakers

Not too long ago, I finally met a long-time favorite author and she signed a copy of her book with the epigraph, “to the girl who loves love.” She handed it back to me and said “I hope that’s OK,” and I enthusiastically told her yes, it so was. My role as community manager of Heroes and Heartbreakers allows me a great luxury: I get to be a fan. There are more nuances to the position, sure, but if you don’t come as a fan first, the job is much less fun…

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So what does blogging mean to me by Abby, Crime by the Book

Growing up, I always aspired to having a “serious” job. I’m not sure when this idea first took hold, but by age 11 I was committed to being a lawyer. (If we’re being totally honest, it started from a combination of “Legally Blonde” and Nancy Drew books.) So much about me changed in the following years, but that goal remained until one day during my junior year of college, I looked up and found that I hardly recognized myself. In constant pursuit of what I believed to be the ultimate…

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