Jaime Lee Moyer: Midnight Secrets and Lies
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I was just guessing at numbers and figures, pulling the puzzles apart

A Parliament Of Queens still loves Coldplay best of all. “Spies” is still Owen’s song, and “The Scientist” is still Rosalind’s song. My brain is never subtle.

Since last we gathered around the old blog, I finished revising The Brightest Fell and sent it off to a patient beta reader. This long suffering friend is bringing fresh eyes to this story. Since I added a little over 10k to this book, it really is a story now and not a skeleton scampering in the woods.

Or at least that’s what I hope. Until my friend tells me the story works, or is a dismal failure, hope will keep me going.

I think I gave myself a whole 24 hours off before diving right back into Queens. It’s utterly amazing how time away from a book that was kicking my ass brings perspective. I saw holes and filled them. I saw places where the tone was all wrong, and I fixed those.

Most of this was in the last few scenes I wrote. That was in the middle of holiday madness at work, so I’m not at all surprised. I wrote those chapters in my sleep. That, gentle readers, isn’t hyperbole. I fell asleep at my keyboard almost daily. It’s not fun being that exhausted and I don’t recommend it for creative endeavors.

The book isn’t fighting me now. I’m counting that a victory and I take my wins where I can find them.

A darling, and then I’m off to bed. I can’t write if I don’t sleep. That’s a proven fact.

Goodnight stars.

The bedroom was lit by one small alchemist blub in a bedtable lamp. Dim light was kinder on Owen’s eyes, she knew that, but Ros wished the shadows weren’t falling over his face, hiding his expression as she crossed the room. She sat on the edge of the bed and took his hand. Owen smiled, chasing away the last of her fears, and making her cry in the bargain.

Ros kicked off her shoes and slipped under the coverlet, carefully molding her body to his so that she wouldn’t hurt him. He’d been her best friend since sixteen; her lover since she’d turned nineteen. This was how they’d always been, holding tight to one another in the worst of times and their deepest troubles. She felt foolish for thinking the world might push them apart.

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