Sometimes, I don’t have time to write. I wish I were being facetious. Writing is my first love and I’ve been indulging it since I was a child. Sadly, I never tried to earn a living at it until my cost of living was somewhat inflated. If I’d done this in my early twenties, when I lived in a crappy apartment--pre mortgage and car payment and insurance, and when I didn’t think it made any difference if my cosmetics and hair care products were bargain basement---I could easily have supported myself writing. But I didn’t. And now I have all those things mentioned above... and more... and a day job, that while it doesn’t exactly pay for all of that, does allow me to have most of those things and enough cash left for ramen noodles.
So, money issues aside. I work a full time job. I’m also a graduate student. And I have these characters, these stories, floating around in my head DEMANDING to be let out. My morning and evening commute will one day get me committed. I will be involuntarily hospitalized on a mental health unit somewhere because clearly, given the animated quality of the conversations I have by myself while driving down the road, I must be delusional.
I’ve learned over the years to work out dialogue while driving in the car. I will talk back and forth to myself as if I am acting out both characters. I will run through bits of prose, I will repeat story ideas to myself aloud, in the hopes of committing them to memory until I get somewhere that I can write it down. And I have a smart phone. I do. But sadly, I think it’s smarter than me, so I rarely use it do more than call someone, text or check email. A phone call while driving I can usually handle... anything more than that, not so much. Better to look like a crazy person than a suicidal one.
I am learning how to manage my time so that all the other stuff and the writing get done. By that, I mean I am learning to live with less sleep and to accept the fact that the clean laundry is just going to sit in the basket until it’s all dirty again. I have pizza and/or popcorn for dinner way more than a person of my age should. But I’m writing. I’m putting words on a page and making something happen, and in the end, that’s all that matters. And one day, hopefully in the not to distant future, that will be my ONLY job and I can devote everything I have to it.
Kyr Nivarre has devoted his life to the Core 7 Alliance despite the fact that the genetically engineered mate who had been destined solely for him had been taken from him. When he finds Wren, he knows instantly that she is the one he has been searching for, and he will do whatever is necessary to protect her and make her his.
Wren Marlow is suddenly thrust into the unusual situation of not being the crazy one. Her whole life she's seen and known things that she shouldn't have and all it had ever done was get her slapped with a bunch of labels by shrinks. Now, a gorgeous alien, calling himself a hybrid, tells her that not only is she not crazy, she's like him... that they were genetically engineered to be perfect for one another.
The threats are coming from all sides and all they can do is cling to one another. But can Wren really accept this life that seems so foreign to her and this man who claims to be her destiny? What will happen when Wren discovers that Kyr's former lovers are not women, but the very men he serves with?
Seraphina Donavan is part time graduate student, full time drone in the bureaucracy of social work, and is dedicated to rescuing as many strays as possible. You can find her at her blog.
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