Soundtracks and Writing

Okay, here is the soundtrack for my novel, as promised (and finally). As I said, music has always inspired my writing and I was given the idea of setting a soundtrack to my story by some other writer friends of mine. I highly recommend doing this to anyone, as it has been so helpful to me, especially when I feel blocked. As you’ll see, I have a pretty broad range when it comes to taste in music. My iTunes library has everything from Classical to Metal with pretty much everything in between, including show tunes, country, R&B, etc. The only genre I do not like as a whole is Rap, which I’d argue isn’t music, but to each his own, I guess.

I have a theme song for each major character along with at least one song for each chapter:

Carly’s Theme – I’m With You (Avril Lavigne)

Julian’s Theme - Carry On Wayward Son (Kansas)

Paula’s Theme – Fallen (Sarah McLachlan)

Ida’s Theme – Hands (Jewel)

Chapter 1

Heartbreak Town (Dixie Chicks)

Chapter 2

Deep Water (Jewel)

Chapter 3

Eleanor Rigby (The Beatles)

Chapter 4

Lonely Ol’ Night (John Mellancamp)

You and Me (Lifehouse)

You May Be Right (Billy Joel)

Chapter 5

Fallin’ For You (Colbie Caillat)

One Love (Hootie and the Blowfish)

Chapter 6

Hand Me Down (Matchbox 20)

Chapter 7

Give a Little Bit (Goo Goo Dolls)

Hold My Hand (Hootie and the Blowfish)

Absence of Fear (Jewel)

Chapter 8

Play Me (Neil Diamond)

Underneath Your Sky (Marina V)

Let Love In (Goo Goo Dolls)

Chapter 9

If Everyone Cared (Nickelback)

Chapter 10

Oh My Love (John Lennon)

Chapter 11

Pachelbel’s Canon (George Winston)

Come Sail Away (Styx)

As I Lay Me Down (Sophie B. Hawkins)

Chapter 12

When I’m With You (Sheriff)

Love Bites (Def Leppard)

Chapter 13 & BBM (Big Black Moment)

Broken (Lifehouse)

Killing My Dream (Marina V)

How to Save a Life (The Fray)

Iris (Goo Goo Dolls)

Chapter 14

Angel (Sarah McLachlan)

Landslide (Fleetwood Mac/Dixie Chicks)

Far Away (Nickelback)

One Thing (Finger Eleven)

Chapter 15

Silver Spring (Fleetwood Mac)

The Mountains Win Again (Blues Traveler)

Home (Daughtry)

Better Days (Goo Goo Dolls)

Note: I listened to a lot of Goo Goo Dolls, Nickelback and Lifehouse during the time I wrote the first draft, which is why so many songs from those three bands appear on the list. Also, if you’ve never heard of Marina V, she has one of the most beautiful soprano voices I’ve ever heard. Check out her website!

So, what gives?

Yeah, I know. I haven’t been good about blogging, lately. Okay, okay … I suck at blogging in general. But that doesn’t mean I haven’t been writing. In fact, I’ve made a lot of headway on my revisions, and have even written a few extra scenes. I took my BFF’s advise from her comment in my last post and started biting off tiny little bits until it’s finally become a big chunk. So that’s where my focus has been the last few months. I probably wouldn’t be posting right now if it weren’t for this awesome (drink!) post, by my fellow Wiffer, Pamela Cayne. It got me all tingly and inspired to blog again, because it reminded me how important it is to have relationships with other writers, because after all, we are kinda a strange breed and we need to stick together.

Another wonderful thing happened in the last couple of months while I was working on revisions. I found out what my story was all about! Yeah, I know, two years later I finally figured it out. I was having a really hard time figuring out my main character’s motivation and goal, and you sort of need that in a story. But I had faith if I kept meandering around, I’d figure it out. And the other morning? I sat down with my coffee and my journal and wrote a synopsis. Yeah. Just like that. I didn’t intend to write it. I sit down every morning with my journal just to get the cobwebs out of my brain, and out it came. All in one piece, and just like Mary Poppins, practically perfect in every way. Maybe one of these days I’ll share it here, but I’m not quite ready yet.

So, now that I know what it’s about, like Pam, I’m going to do a new soundtrack for it. Music has always helped me write, and I slapped together a soundtrack when I first starting writing this book to help me get the essence of each character and some of the scenes. But now that I have a better grasp on things, I’m going to revise it and post it here.

Okay, that is all for now. With any luck, it won’t be as long until I post again, but with me, you never know.

One Step Forward

Wow … It’s been what? Almost six weeks since I blogged? Well, if you’re one of the people who keep checking back, my apologies, and thanks so much for your patience. I’d be surprised if there’s anybody left out there following my blog, but according to my stats, there’s at least a few of you.

There are a lot of reasons I could give you for not blogging, all of which would have a seed of truth to them, but the biggest reason is that I hate to have to bore people (and myself) with whining, and that’s all I’ve felt like doing as of late when it comes to the subject of my writing in general, and my novel in particular. Seems I’ve hit a wall, and have been standing here staring at it for quite a few months now. I’ve made a few futile attempts to climb over it, but all in all, they haven’t amounted to much, and I’ve made very little progress since I finished my first draft.

Okay, I’m just going to go ahead and say it. This whole revision thing sucks. I guess it just all comes back to the fact that I haven’t a clue what I’m doing. It’s just so dang overwhelming, and when I feel overwhelmed, my first reaction is to do absolutely nothing. So I guess it should be no surprise to me that I’ve been staring at this wall for so long. I just plain don’t know where to start. I’ve read over my manuscript several times and there is just SO MUCH to fix. Where do I start? I know, I know, Glenda told Dorothy that it’s always best to start at the beginning, but my yellow brick road seems to be covered with weeds and I can’t find it. If I could just clear those weeds of self-doubt, maybe I could find it. I’ve always struggled with being too hard on myself, and it takes absolutely nothing to trip me up and get me to start ragging on myself.

However, I’m so in love with my story, it keeps pulling me back. It calls to me and reassures my that I can do this. I just need to keep moving forward, one step at a time. It’s painfully slow, but I’ve got to believe I’ll get there … SOMEDAY.

So, I guess my next step is to try and figure out some sort of plan or process for getting these revisions done. So I’m reaching out to you, dear readers (bless all two of you). If you’re a writer, what have you found that works for you. Got any frogs for me to kiss? I’m hoping there might be one or two out there that will turn into my Prince Charming.

Best Laid Plans

Life is what happens to you while you’re busy making other plans.

~ John Lennon

I don’t know what it is with me. All the motivational guru types will tell you the best way to achieve your goals is to write them down. They say something like 90% of people who write down their goals, meet them. 

I must be in the other 10%.

No, I write down my goals and I may as well have challenged the Universe to unleash any chaos it can muster to thwart my plans. Truly, I’m not so self-centered to believe the Universe thinks I’m important enough to single out and torture, but sometimes it sure feels that way.

So, I enter this big challenge … the “May Marathon” some of my Wiffer friends came up with … and the very next day, I have a kid up all night barfing. I vow to carry on,  I tell myself that it’s a blessing to be able to stay home with him. I can work on my novel while he sleeps. Two days later, the guy in the car behind me at a red light decides to hit his accelerator before I do and bashes into my poor minivan. That night, my hubby is up all night with the same violent stomach flu as my younger son. And then the next day, my older son came home from school and promptly barfed. So between dealing with car insurance, making Jello, washing sheets and sterilizing toilets, I really didn’t have the time, let alone the mindset, I needed to tackle my novel revisions. And then when I figured the worst was finally over and maybe, just maybe I could dive in and get something done, the toilet I’d been cleaning for the last few days …

Became my very best friend.

I rarely ever get sick, so even though I should have seen it coming, I was completely, stupidly, foolishly unprepared. Furthermore, I found out that now that I’m older, I don’t seem to bounce back from the stomach flu quite as quickly as when I was twelve … which, by the way, is the last time I can remember having the stomach flu. I also forgot how very much it SUCKED!

I’m better now, but I’m not going to say anything about what I want to accomplish this weekend. Not a ding-dang word.

From now on, I think go with the “Just Do It” philosophy. Excuse me while I go look for my Nikes.

Hmmm … Now Where Was I?

You know, there was a reason I started this blog, I just know there was …

Oh, yeah! Remember how I said I finished the first draft of my novel? And remember how I said now I was going to work on revisions of that novel, and I was going to blog about it, and you all were going to encourage me?

Right …

So, anyway, I’m just going to say it right now … last month pretty much sucked. I didn’t even think about my novel, let alone do any kind of work on it. Okay, maybe I thought about it. Once. I think. That’s right … my dad and his wife Gaby were asking me about it while I was up in Seattle for Grandma’s funeral. Good … I thought about it and I even talked about it a little. That’s something, isn’t it?

Well, in the Wiffer’s way of good timing, my fellow Wiffer, Karen, posted today on her Facebook status that maybe we should have a writing challenge in May. At about the same time, some of my old high school friends discovered, quite belatedly, that April was “Alcohol Awareness Month” AND “Stress Awareness Month”. Since we all felt a little shafted by not knowing sooner that it was the month to be aware of alcohol, and we felt like we all had more stress in April than was really necessary, it was suggested we proclaim the month of May “Wine Awareness Month”. To be honest, I’m not sure why wine was singled out, but I’m a wino, so I went along with it.

So we’re combining the two and having a May Marathon/Wine Awareness Month and posting our writing goals on our blogs. My original thought was to set my goal to revise my entire novel. After all, a man’s reach should exceed his grasp, right? But then I thought, why set a goal I know damn well I won’t meet? So I’m cutting it in half. Right now, my word count sits at about 68,000 words. I know that I also need to add a few scenes and thus some words, so I’m setting my official “May Marathon” goal at 34,000 revised words, and 20,000 new words. Did I make that complicated enough, or what? Clear as a Mimosa with a splash of grenadine, huh?

Mimosas … mmmm …

Where was I, again?

Right. Goals. And wine. Gotta have wine for the Wine Awareness part. So while I am working my little tush off getting these revisions done, I’m going to reward myself with a bottle of wine I’ve never tried for each, let’s say, 10,000 words revised or written, and review it here on the blog. How does that sound?

Oh, and one other thing. Some of us Wiffers have been whining (actually, Karen & Melina don’t whine, they kvetch) that other non-writers don’t understand what we all call “Writer Crazy”, so we will also be offering each other “Writer Therapy” in the Wiffer Forum. If you find yourself in the same sort of dilemma and want to join us, or if you have no idea what a Wiffer is, click HERE! We love company and we will welcome you with writer crazy open arms! I know, I know … you have to register, and that’s kinda scary. But really, it’s not such a huge commitment and we won’t spam you or anything. So c’mon in already! We have writers, we have crazy, we have wine … what else could you possibly need?

I Heart Pike Place Market

One of my very favorite places in the whole wide world is Pike Place Market in Seattle. The day after my Grandma’s funeral, I woke up to sunny blue Seattle skies, and despite my exhaustion from the whole ordeal of losing my grandma, flying at the last minute from Denver to Seattle, and helping my dad with her funeral, I knew I’d been given a gift, as it’s very seldom sunny in Seattle, especially in the early Spring. So instead of sleeping all day like I’d planned, I hitched a ride with my dad into town and hung out at Pike Place Market all day long. It was my idea of pure Heaven. There is no better place to go people watch, which is one of my all time favorite pastimes.

One of the best things about the market is the street musicians. Since I knew I had the whole day, I made a point of standing and listening to at least one full song from every musician. These guys (above) were playing Cat Stevens’ “Wild World”, which happens to have a special meaning to me, so it was a perfect way to start off my day with a cup of coffee and a carton of blueberries bought from a local vender. I ask him if he knew any more Cat Stevens and he got really bashful and told me he was sorry that he didn’t. I gave him a big tip, anyway, of course. In fact, I spread a lot of good karma around that day! If I listened, or took a picture, I was sure to tip.

And then there’s the flowers and all the vibrant colors! I’d never been to the market in the Spring to experience the multicolored Tulips, Daffodils and Hyacinths on display. I wish I would have gotten a close-up; I’ve never in my life seen such unique colors!

And, of course, there’s the famous “Salmon Toss”. The fish mongers are every bit the entertainers the street musicians are.Even the dogs come out to play! This little guy was sporting a pretty rad haircut and dye job along with a hip pair of blue jeans!

I’d be remiss not to mention the original Starbucks across the street from the market. Here it is complete with its own resident street musician.

A funny thing happens when the sun comes out in Seattle. People drop everything they’re doing to sit in the sun.

To Sunbathe …… or read … or watch the ferry come in …

… or even play the bagpipes. Upon my request, this young man was so kind to play “Amazing Grace” in honor of my Grandma. Some of you might know, I go completely fangirl gaga over the bagpipes. I must have sat there for an hour listening to him. He was fantastic!

Did You Ever Know You Were My Hero?

My grandmother was born on January 28, 1911 to her parents, Simon & Missouri Hackney. She was named Mamie Hackney. The picture on the left was taken when she was four years old. If you look closely, you will notice the scratch under her eye, and when enlarged on the screen, you can also see a slight scratch just below her hairline on the left.  When I first noticed those scratches, I immediately got the picture of this sweet little girl in a dress slightly too big for her — perhaps a hand-me-down from one of her older sisters — chasing down that chicken, fighting it, and while taking a few scratches to her cute little face, making it her own. And that, my friend, is exactly what my grandmother did with her life. She chased it down, she fought, and in the end, after lots of scratches, she made it her own.

Grandma’s daddy was a coal miner, and when she was not quite seven years old, he was overtaken by black lung. Her mom couldn’t afford to support Grandma and her six brothers and sisters, so they were put up for adoption. That’s what they did in those days. My grandma would often tell me the story about how, in an effort to cheer her mother on the Christmas after her daddy died, she tried to light the candles on the Christmas tree, only to burn down the tree and half of the living room with it. Shortly thereafter, she and her brothers and sisters were taken away. It took her until she was well into adulthood to realize that it wasn’t her fault because of what happened that Christmas morning.

Sadly, she was never adopted, but went from foster home to foster home until she graduated from high school. People would take in foster children in those days as household help or farmhands. So my grandma grew up cleaning houses, taking care of babies and working farms. Some families were kind to her; others were not so kind. Sometime between foster homes, she decided she never liked the name “Mamie” and renamed herself “Betty Jeanne”. She told me it was the prettiest name she could think of.

When she was 18 years old, she met my grandfather, Earl Edward Abbott, at a dance club called “The Eagle” in Seattle, Washington. In those days, the ladies would have dance tickets that they would give to potential suitors. My grandfather told me he took one look at Grandma and thought she was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. He begged all of her dance tickets off of her, and they danced all night. He promised he would be back the next night. My grandma came the next night only to be disappointed that he wasn’t there. The next weekend, she went again, and saw him, but he was with this cute little blonde with whom he danced for the first several songs. When he went to get some refreshments, my grandma took the opportunity to confront him and ask him what business he had with the cute blonde. My flustered grandpa quickly explained it was his sister, Bertha, who had come into town that week.

Grandma married Grandpa when she was 19 years old. That would have been in 1930. In a short while, they had my Aunt Yvonne. Six years later, my Aunt Sandra came along, and six years after that, they finally had a baby boy — my dad. Grandma always joked how, for some reason, she could only get pregnant every six years. Amazingly enough, I never heard my father or any of my male cousins make snide remarks about my grandpa’s performance when she would mention it.

Like me, Grandma helped her husband with his business. Grandpa owned a gas station, motel and restaurant called “Betty’s Lunch”. My grandma ran the restaurant and cleaned the motel. All this while raising three children and being very active with the Masonic Lodge. One year, my grandfather got very sick and was hospitalized, scaring my grandma half to death. She decided then and there it was time to get rid of the three businesses and put them all up for sale. She marched into my grandpa’s hospital room and, in her words, told him “she was sick to death of cleaning piss pots and it was time to move on”. Apparently, he didn’t argue. Smart man.

Not long after that,  the grandchildren started coming. Because of her past, family was the most important thing to my grandma, above everything else. She loved each and every one of us with a fierceness which couldn’t even be matched by a lioness. In the end, she would have 18 grandchildren, 35 great-grandchildren, and a whopping 16 great-great grandchildren before her death last week, April 1, 2009. She was preceded in death by my grandfather, my two cousins, Eddie and Jimmy, and my Aunt Yvonne.

It wasn’t until she got sick a couple of months ago that I realized how much strength I drew from her. She was always there, no matter what. She was never afraid to tell me just what she thought. She was never afraid of ANYTHING, except for losing her family. I also realized that she gave me so much more than my unruly curly hair that turned grey by the time I was 35, and my big butt. She gave me a love for family and an almost insatiable hunger to know my roots — who I am and where I came from.

She called me on every single one of my birthdays and sang “Happy Birthday” to me … right up until my last birthday, my 42nd. And you know what? Turns out she did that for every single one of us. My cousin, Renee, recorded them. Oh, how I wish I’d thought to do the same.  I was blessed with four incredible grandparents. She was the last one I had left. Foolishly, I let myself believe she was invincible … that she’d make it to 100 and beyond. I was wrong. Right now, I’d give anything to be able to call her, like I use to do,  just one more time, and ask her to tell me just one more story about her and Grandpa. Any story. She was full of them. I can’t help but think there was at least one more she never told.

I was blessed to be able to be the one to put together her memorial, and go through all the hundreds of pictures she kept to produce a slideshow of her life. In doing so, I realized something about myself I needed to change. Once again, Grandma was lovingly showing me one of my flaws. I hate my picture to be taken. I hide from the camera. She didn’t. And because of that, I was able to to go through her pictures and feel close to her once more. Because of her, I will strive to change my aversion to the camera. Because one of these days, God willing, my granddaughter might be doing the same thing and, like me, might find some comfort in looking at pictures of her grandma. I can only hope.

So with this, I say goodnight to my beautiful, incredible Grandma Betty. Heaven has no clue what just hit it.

Did you ever know you were my hero … and everything I wish I could be?

I could fly higher than an eagle … with you as the wind beneath my wings.

What a Nice Surprise, Bring Your Alibis …

So, I had a little musical bonding moment with my boys the other day.

My boys are fifteen and twelve years old. The older boy plays the electric guitar and the younger one plays the drums. Both of them have been taking lessons for several years, and yes I’m their mom, but trust me when I say they are both incredible musicians. However, there is just a teensy bit of a generation gap between us. I don’t mind their music so much — in fact, at times I really enjoy listening to it, if only to try and understand their world and what’s going on in those brains of theirs (I know, good luck with THAT, right?). They are both heavy metal enthusiasts … not like my generation thinks of heavy metal. Oh, no … Metallica? Iron Maiden? Poison? AC/DC? … Mellow compared to what my guys listen to. Ever heard of Avenged Sevenfold, Slipknot or Disturbed? Yeah. Half the time, all I can think about is how someone can “sing” that way without completely destroying their vocal cords. And I’m told these groups are not considered “Screamo” and so far haven’t had the nerve (or the eardrums) to ask to hear an example of  what would be classified as “Screamo”.

So imagine my surprise and pleasure when I hear my older son begin to pluck out the beginning strains of  Hotel California while I schlep down the stairs of the basement the other day with load of laundry. Turns out his guitar teacher assigned it to him (bless you guitar teacher … I knew I was paying you for something!). Then yesterday, he spied the Hell Freezes Over CD in my van and asked if Hotel California was on it. Of course it was on it, I told him, but a different version than he might expect. You see, the Hell Freezes Over live version of Hotel California happens to be one of my favorite songs of all time, so I happily slipped it into the CD slot and hoped that both boys would humor me while narrated the intro for them, which in my humble opinion is the most amazing song intro ever:

Imagine a dark stage. All the audience can see is the silhouettes of the band members on stage. Don Felder begins to play an unfamiliar melody on a classic-styled acoustic guitar. Then the percussion chimes it … the bass drum and a bongo (at this point, I glance in the rear-view mirror at my drummer, happy to see I have his rapt attention). Joe Walsh joins in, strumming along with the still unrecognized melody. The audience has no idea what the song is, all they know is they are there seeing one of their favorite bands of all time, a band they never thought they’d see in a live performance again. Finally, Don starts to play the familiar, famous tune. The audience immediately recognizes it and goes wild. You can barely hear the music for the cheering. You can feel the electric emotion just from the recording. Joy!  Something that never was supposed to happen, happened! Hell froze over, and they were there to witness it! Do I sound jealous at this point? Because I am. Brings tears to my eyes every single, damn time. And yes, I am a sap.

And you know what? I think they understood. The most telling evidence of this is how often I’ve heard them each listen to the song in the last couple of days since. As budding musicians, they’ve come to  a turning point. Music isn’t all about  the musician … okay, maybe if you play lead guitar it is. But seriously, that’s only part of the equation. It’s about making a connection. As humans, we all crave a connection to other humans … through music, through books, through art, through movies … whatever. And as writers, musicians or artists, that craving is even more intense. We want to be understood, to be loved. We want to matter. We want to write that song, or that story, or paint that piece that is instantly recognizable, like Hotel California. Something that others will love and connect with. Something that will live longer than we will. Something that will matter.

And now for your listening enjoyment:

Introduction: Best of Big Chief

As I mentioned in a previous post, my love of writing began in high school when we were required to keep a journal in Big Chief Tablets. We could write anything we wanted, without fear of anyone reading it. We could write song lyrics, for all the teacher cared, as long as we wrote at least ten pages a week. I must have written something like ten pages a day, and continued to write in them up until they stopped making Big Chiefs, around the time my first son was born in 1994. Which means I have about 12 years worth of Big Chiefs in a box in my closet. I pulled some out the other day and after laughing at the tangled ball of teenaged angst I was back then, decided I should risk ridicule and share an excerpt with you all each week. After all, this is where it all started. At the end of each year back in High School, we would be assigned to pull what we deemed our best entries. It was call “Best of Big Chief.”

The first entry I’m sharing is from 1983, over 26 years ago, when I first started dedicating my Big Chiefs to KOTF (Kimee of the Future). I was 16 years old, so be gentle:

February 18, 1983

Life is so sweet sometimes. The birds are singing, the smell of spring is already in the air, there’s a soft breeze coming in my window and Charly McClain is singing “Surround Me with Love” on the radio. You know, life would be so easy if there wasn’t any such thing as Love. I feel pleasant right now, yet I have an inner feeling of despair. Please don’t ask me to explain. Just call it “Glass”. Everything is glass and it’s all stained, every last bit of it and it depresses me. Well, I guess I better get busy and clean my room. So … I guess I’ll see you later. Who are you anyway?  The “Kimee of the Future”? So, KOTF, how are all those children you wanted? Did you marry Tony or Mike? Neither? Are you a famous singer now, or just a regular run of the mill boring American? Do you still live in Colorado? Are you alive at all? Did you name your little girl Elise? I bet you did. Have you figured out what you’re doing yet, or are you still fumbling around in the dark” Forget that you wrote this, KOTF. Pretend it’s an old friend from yesterday. You’re not the same person as you were a long time ago are you? You’ve changed an awful lot. Well KOTF, these Big Chiefs are dedicated to you.

In answer to my younger, fragile self, I only had two children and, since both of them were boys, I felt it best not to name either one of them “Elise”. In fact, I wouldn’t have even if they were girls, because later on, I ended up working with an Elise who was somewhat of a psycho, ruining my fondness of that name forever. I liked it back then because I was obsessed with the movie “Somewhere in Time”. And I don’t have to forget that I wrote this, because I honestly don’t remember writing it at all. And isn’t it funny how I go from “Life is so sweet …” to an “inner feeling of despair” in the course of about two sentences? It solidifies my relief not to be raising a teenage girl right now, for surely she would be just as bad as I was.

Where I’m Stuck

Okay, here’s where I’ve been stuck with my novel revisions:

Chapter One

I know how important Chapter One is … especially those first three to five pages. Agents are very busy people, and word on the street is if you can’t grab ‘em in the first three to five pages, they won’t bother to read any further and you can add another rejection to your pile. Although I’m already prepared for a lot of rejections (I realize it’s just a fact of a lowly writer’s life) I’m still petrified by the thought that my first chapter won’t be enough. I don’t even know if my first chapter SHOULD be chapter one. Maybe I should have started earlier in my MC’s life. Or maybe later. Some people say you should simply toss out Chapter One and make Chapter Two the first chapter. Anyway, I’ve tried putting it to the side and coming back around to it once the rest of the book is polished, but I can’t. I can’t go any further until I’m at least somewhat satisfied with it. To remedy this, I’ve set a deadline to send my best shot to a trusted fellow writer and go from there. I’ll keep you posted on how that goes. 

The Title

I’m also finding that I simply can’t go on until I’m satisfied with a title. Yes, I know chances are the title will be changed by the publisher. But I’m sick and tired of calling it my “WIP”, and I think I will love it more and care for it more if it has a proper name. Kind of like having a baby, you know? You can’t keep calling your baby, “the baby”, although I suppose some people do. Well, that’s kind of how I’m feeling. Without a title, it just doesn’t seem real enough. When I was first thinking about this post, I’d planned on giving you all a list of the possibilities so far with little blurb on what the story was about and have you all tell me which one spoke to you the most. But now that I look back on the list (which I haven’t looked at for awhile) one title in particular screams to me that it is The One. So I hereby officially name my novel:

How a Heart Breaks

So that’s one problem solved, thank you very much!

Now off to obsess over that damn first chapter so more …