November 9, 10, 11—I wasn’t sure of the day. Time blended for me while writing. Seconds, minutes, hours, and days became the great and tempestuous mix of time when at work, creating characters and scenes. I became lost in the words and sentences and paragraphs, killing chapters four and five of Lost and Beguiling.
Excited, I emailed Keer my progress, writing him: “…I’ve opened all the windows in the cottage and let the snow fly inside. One inch. Two inches. So much snow. Now…now I can feel the cold and wet of my main character’s being! Now I can feel her pain and understand her fears!” I paused. “I’m not changing the novel’s title. I know you don’t like it, but…it has to stay the same. The significance of the title drives the book.”
Keer responded with: “Would you cry for your main chara
