I love my Jake...

He's got balls. No question in my mind. A real goof in the face of death...but never out of control...sort of. Jesus, the big reveal's either going to be the best thing I've ever written, or the worst. Or both, you never know. I'm open to impossibilities.

I no longer worry about whether or not a reader figures out who's behind what happened to Owen Taylor before Jake spits it out; it's not as important as his journey...and Tone's. That's not to say it's UN-important; it is. But Jake's the one who has to live it, and my goal is to make the last chapter of his story what matters more than anything preceding that. After all, it's how things are at the end that counts.

I'm enjoying the pain of writing, again. The irritation with myself for getting too verbose and cute with what's going on. The joy when I catch a phrase or sentence just right. The awe when a character takes over and leads me deeper into their soul. The anger when it doesn't make a damn bit of sense, even to me when I'm the one who wrote it.

And yes -- my characters do have souls, each bright and shining in its own way. Even the bad guys. They have to, in order for them to live...even on a page or in the back of someone's mind.

I wonder if the church considers that blasphemy?