That noise you hear is me sharpening my
The pre-iced path to my left leads to a place that is grim and cold and needs to move the focus of its location and maybe, just maybe, I don't want to bore myself with another rewrite when I ache for something new to love.
The prickly path just ahead is a creepy sci-fi YA and I swear if I see one more agent/editor twitter that they're looking for just the sort of thing that this wants to be, I shall yodel... I mean scream. I'm wondering how I can cryogenically freeze the world while keeping myself warm in a little heated bubble so I can get the darn thing out before they have a hundred-million identical subs. More than ever, I'm convinced ideas pour from the sky hitting half the population at once.
The mountainous path to my right takes twists and turns through history and takes murky steps into the future, it needs research-research-research and is probably more a novella and most definitely not YA and well...Aren't I supposed to be attempting to get an agent etc etc infinitum.
Or maybe, I'll just continue scaring at the blank screen. If I look hard enough perhaps I'll start to see faces.