My brain feels a little… empty.
I have just finished the last draft of “Incubus,” or rather, “Shatterproof” (thanks, hubby!), and I am stunned to say I don’t have any ideas.
Ok, let me rephrase that: I’ve got ideas, I just don’t have anything solid enough to go on. So I guess for the next few days, I’m not doing any writing, until something congeals enough for me to use.
Which is okay: I just bought “Outsiders: 22 All-New Stories from the Edge” at Hastings tonight, and it looks wonderfully fantastic.