Sometimes Even Writers Can Lose Their Sanity



My dear mother lives states away, but she knew it was coming. For weeks, she suspected my exhaustion as she recognized the signs. Fatigue. Lack of focus. Not to mention a perpetual grumpiness that proved to be a stark contrast against my typical cheer. Yes, the writer’s creative tank had been spent, it’s meter pointed on empty. Someone had to intervene before my engine sputtered and failed.

I should’ve known it was time to rest. I needed to take a break, relax, and enjoy a weekend getaway. But I couldn’t. My mind wouldn’t stop spinning over the neverending list of things to do. I’ve always been a stubborn one. Which is why my mother demanded I take a day off, and wouldn’t give up until I sworeΒ  not to touch The Royal Rogue‘s manuscript for at least twenty-four hours.

I laughed at the notion. “Easier said than done.”

So she suggested several hours of mindless gaming in attempt to keep my obsessive muse at bay. Being the obedient daughter I am, I followed my mother’s advice.

Now I’m Drizzt, Level 8 dark elf fighter and Pledgesword traveling between the Kingdoms of Amalur. Spiders flee at first whack of my fiery blade, and the dark Red Legion dares not whisper my name for fear my elf ears may hear them, and hunt them down. I am the owner of the only prestigious house in Canneroc (a town left in shambles, but I shall soon revive its spirit…), and I successfully saved the marriage of a peasant woman in a town I can’t pronounce.

I am rich.

Handsome.

And my sword is very big.

But t’is only the beginning of my growing legacy. As the ‘Fateless One’, my destiny is my own to weave, and this tapestry will not spin itself.

Which leads me with a single question:

What have I gotten myself into?

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