The Middle of The Night

Two nights ago, Forbidden Sanctuary went live for auditions.

The most volatile ideas always arrive at me in the dark. The world sleeps while I stare at the ceiling, dissecting the work and wondering if it could be better. Then I wonder if I missed a blind spot.

The listing went up anyway. Morning brought four auditions to the inbox. Two show promise. The conversation has started.

My husband says I move too fast. He says I take on too much. But the first public work must stand tall. It must match the vision. You have to exhaust every avenue. You have to verify every detail.

I wonder how other authors know when to stop because I lack that signal.

A week ago, a song played. It reshaped the ending of the second book. I cut forty percent of a finished draft to match the new tone. The structure had to break to accommodate the truth.

Now the draft sits unfinished. The self-imposed deadline approaches. The panic sets in.

This is the balance. Motherhood. The corporate job. The obsessive need to get the story right.

Welcome to the chaos.

Layla