Libby Drew

You know they're not mutually exclusive. 😉

I have lived in Naples, on Marco and in Estero.

Thank you.

Yes, she is quite special.

You are excellent for the ego!

The thought of it IS terrifying. For me, at least.

I love cats. But I am a ginger. We are evil, soulless beings.

Thank you!

Herbie the Love Bug! I loved them too.

Right? 😉

Love that baby!

Yes. Finally, something honest between them.

You could at least give it a try. 😉

Me too. 😉

Glad I still had you guessing at this point!

Yep. All true!

She's not ALL bad. 😉

Sunday blog time. I was asked this question a few days ago: “What one book do you love that you believe influenced your own writing the most?” That’s a seriously hard question, folks. How could any writer, who is most likely an avid reader, choose just one single book as the most influential in their life? There have been moments. Epiphanies. When I read something that, upon reflection, altered me. But pick one work above all others? That feels impossible. I can think of many instances of love at first read. And many when the love endured through subsequent reads, over years and decades. I will share one here, not because I expect people to agree, or even understand, why this example affected me. I’m putting it here to demonstrate that sometimes, for each of us, the smallest details, the most insignificant moments in a piece of writing, become the most beloved. You are not me, and I am not you, so the gravity of this particular connection will elude you. But hopefully the spirit of the exercise will be valuable. Over a decade ago, when LiveJournal was a hub of activity for all things fiction, an author -- now known as C.S. Pacat -- was self-publishing her first novel, Captive Prince, on her blog a chapter at a time. I remember each installment as a treat. Her main protags, Damon and Laurent, sizzled together. I remember the story as meaty, smart, impeccably written, with dazzling characters and a sexy plot. (Currently available by Penguin Random House, if you’re interested.) There was one chapter that began with the most perfect paragraph I’ve ever read. (Up until then!) It was commanding and adroit, like poetry. Concise. Emotive. A gut punch. I fell totally in love with it, in a literary sense. One paragraph, that’s all it was. But every word I have written from that day forward, I measure up against those ten or twelve sentences. It wasn’t the prose I wanted to recreate, but the emotions it evoked, and I strive for that still, almost fifteen years later. Why does any of this matter? Because no two people take the same path on their way from writer to author. Once you embrace the highlights of your own journey and dig into what moves you, the rest will come more naturally, with less frustration and with greater satisfaction. You don’t have to believe every literary classic is a masterpiece or turn your nose up at what some might consider “trash” fiction. You don’t. Read what you love and let that experience mold you. Stevie Nicks penned Landslide in one sitting. It became one of the most popular songs she ever wrote. It came from her heart. You can do that too.

Start small is excellent advice!

Sage advice. Don't ride bareback either. That cat is in danger.

Congratulations! Good luck, you two. That is quite the undertaking. But one that is usually fueled by love. Please keep us updated.

LOL I knew somebody would go there. Just waiting to see who. I've got my eye on you, sir.

Like... still in the wrapper, right? Please say yes. Though, it is lava cake.

New favorite word!

I couldn't have asked for a better audience. Thank you, everyone!