So I’m writing this new book . . .

And it’s great. It’s already a novel. All I have to do is get the story out of my head and onto the page, ya know?

And its going great — great characters, great world, great story. (Thank you, gods, for sending me this story!)

I get about 60 pages in, and the ending comes to me so I write that quick. Delicious, heh heh heh.

And then I realize — I’m kind of stuck. Too much information! I’m like a Dalek stuck on the wrong word: backstory! backstory! backstory! (only I don’t know it . . .)

On Twitter, I see mention that Anne Frasier is thinking about starting a critique service.

Fifty bucks! I remind myself that my goal is to be a perfeshunul here. I take the plunge and send her the first chunk of my brilliant but mind-of-its-own-infested wip.

Thank the gods for Anne Frasier. I’m so lucky. I got more useful information from her feedback than I would have in a whole retreat weekend that cost me a thousand bucks!

gotta go now . . .

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