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Tuesday morning, and it feels like I’m climbing a mountain. I’m a quarter of the way up, and I can’t even see the top of the mountain for the mists. I’m going to get lost here, I can just tell. I might even barrel my way clear off the mountain face. And in the meantime, every muddy step feels like a slog.

But it’s time to lace my boots up, and get going. Because I know that once I start moving, I’ll remember why I do this: For the moments of grace when I find the right words. For the sheer rush of joy when I hear my characters speaking to me. And for the richness of getting to know this story’s wild heart.

Wishing luck to everyone who’s out in those story mountains with me!

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