So, in the last week, I both finished writing the first draft of Ravina of the Twains and managed to get the entire thing transcribed to my computer. This was a strange WIP for me. It is the shortest I've ever written (comes in at just under 60k transcribed) and it has had the least amount changed during the first edit while transcribing. I have yet to figure out if these are good things, or bad things. My average novels have been longer, and while many authors hate killing their lovelies, I find it rather enjoyable. I'd always rather have too many than too few. The same goes for a horse. I've always been one to go for the hot blooded fruit loops because I find settling them out so much easier than rallying the pluggers up.
But now I'm holding a story that is short, for me, and I fear it needs so much that I can't yet give it. Time will tell once my critique partners get their mitts on it. In the meanwhile, I've already started on the sequel, Lamb Dressed in Armor, and I can't seem to help but launch myself into it. This is the first series where I can see exactly how the second book will go (at least the bones of it) and where it will end up and how that will work with the first book. The third is still in the shadows, but I have faith it will arrive just as the second did. In a flurry of words and ideas.
It's amazing how some stories evolve so differently from others.
On the query front, I have no news. One of my critique partners has assured me that it is acceptable to gently nudge the agents who have fulls with them, and since she has an agent, I don't doubt her. Mostly, I think I'm avoiding doing that because right now I don't want to know, unless it is something wonderful. And it's been so long that either the agents haven't gotten to me, laughed out loud and threw the ms out the window, or have already lined up an entire publishing team to carry the book to glory. Commonsense tells me that the former two options are by far the more likely, and given the choice, I'd like to believe that I'm on a TBR list, not sailing into dumpsters. So I'll deal with not knowing for sure, for now, anyway.
Instead, I'll focus on these strange new WIPs who are driving me any which way they please, causing me to write maniacally into the wee hours yet pop out of bed after a few hours of tossing and turning, excited to strike pen to paper all over again.