Scared

I am on to the next book while the first is passed around from husband to kid to friend to neighbor to editor. And this next one is scary. I mean scary to my twelve year old self, who is the only one who really matters at this point. I started it last night and woke up with all the ideas. I decided to just pile it on. Put everything in there. All the things I want. Old somewhat creepy house? Check. Hidden old cemetery in the backyard? Check. Secret passageway uncovered by your heroine? Check. Stray dog rescued from under the porch? Check. I keep wanting to apologize to my poor 13 year old main character for what she’s about to go through. But then I think, I wanna be in a creepy old house with a secret passageway and a dog. And I keep writing. And it’s getting creepy. And I wonder where it’s going to go. And if there will be a happy ending.

Or not.

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