I write for the ones without a voice.

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I'll be gone this weekend. I'm taking a trip to Arizona. You could say it's for an emergency. Still collecting experiences to write with before I continue with Venus and Lysander. This is part of it. I have another book tour going on over the next two weeks. I wish I could stick around to keep track of what's going on with that. But this so-called adventure of mine is also important.

My publicist is amazing. I'm definitely going back to her once my next novel is out. Whenever that is.

Before this past week, I had no idea how much I could hate someone: the most generic, the most childish and manipulative; the basest type of person. The only thing keeping this hatred in-check is my instinct to put it in the story. Whenever I feel out of control, I have to put it in writing. In someone's character development. In a scene somewhere. That's all I can do. It isn't like me to take out something like this on the person. Silence is better. This isn't the first time this year that I found hatred. I stayed quiet. I have to do it again this time. Just like last year...just like last year.

Causality is a beautiful thing. Sometimes I'll stop what I'm doing to think back to how everything evolved over the years. This year: leaving in January, playing Persona 4 Golden, getting the sudden urge to submit The Scorpion's Empress to Solstice Publishing, getting a positive response three days later, deciding on June 1 as the release date, telling my readers ASAP, returning to Final Fantasy XIV, taking a chance--many chances--

These details I discovered for Venus and Lysander will set this book apart from everything else I wrote in the past. Before, I coasted by on what I was used to. This feels so different. Every time I listen to this song, I remember what I plan on writing in chapter eight. It's a pivotal moment. A climax before the real climax. The panic, the confusion, the mobs of ignorant people raging against the one they were taught to condemn, the truth revealed, loyalties tested. I get a rush from the last twenty seconds or so. It keeps going--the instruments keep going, higher than the last, and it elevates me. Chills and watery eyes, every time.

Writing from my heart instead of my head. I haven't done that in's time to go back to it.

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