Word Count: 9090
What story I’m currently working on:
I’m picking up the pace on A Thief’s Crusade again, right when I’m going to have to break on it in a week or so when we go to Iceland. It’s cool though. There are so many new subplots that I dragged in at this point, that I’m sure this story’s going to startling new directions. I hit 33k this week, which places me ahead of the curve for my monthly goal, which was to hit 30k. I know I’m starting to gel with a book when it starts moving faster and faster 🙂
What I’m editing/marketing:
And, the majority of the beta feedback is in for Forged Redemption, so I’m really churning at those edits, trying to get as much done as possible before my vacation! Thankfully no big macro edits needed–though a lot of micro-edits on the way. While I won’t have the book done by the end of April, I’ll definitely have it finished in May (before the fourth book comes out). So then hopefully before the end of the year, y’all will have a full Tribal Spirits series to enjoy 🙂 Forged Contracts came out last week, but also happens to be on sale for 99 cents! And if you are current, Forged Futures is up for pre-order!!! And the other two pre-orders waiting to hit soon are Tales from the Skies and Color of a Soul!
Join my brigade:
Teaser of the week:
Currently listening to:
Line of the week:
John and Tuck were on Doncaster patrol. With their enemies scouting the building too, they needed to cut off any attempts before their heist. Two more days.
Which left him with an empty house, an empty bottle, and an empty heart.
His phone buzzed, and he was tempted to ignore it. He’d need to start weaning off the communications with Dan—no cold ghosting, but he couldn’t keep indulging in the flirty texts. Not when each one sliced another cut into his already covered arms. He scanned the wire and pine shelves of their booze rack, but he wasn’t in a quiet enough mood for gin, and vodka just made him meaner.
Fuck it, he’d drink coffee. The idea of going to Butcher’s Block was scrapped, not after he’d ruined that joint by taking his mark there. When had he gotten to be such a careless idiot? This wasn’t how he ran ops. Grif had always worked more like a spider spinning a web, then watching from a noticeable distance as his enemies got themselves tangled up. Yet ever since the botched Nevarra job, he and the Outlaws had been sloppier than ever. Luck hadn’t just abandoned them, it had lobbed them off the cliff.