Stephen King said, “We are writers, and we never ask each other where we get our ideas; we know we don’t know.”  Not to align myself with King because I’m not THAT good, but he’s right.  I have no idea where the hell what I just wrote came from.  

My plan was to finish editing on Sacred Blood and Sacred Honor before starting on Sacred Heart.  But I just felt compelled to write out part of a chapter.  So I made another pot of coffee (I don’t think that thing is ever off, literally), grabbed my computer, and started typing.  

Before I knew it, a plot twist I did not anticipate came out.  It’s perfect.  Absolutely perfect.  Then another, well, not a twist, but something I didn’t plan or expect happened.  I may as well be reading this chapter as a reader who picked up the book for the first time.

I can hardly claim this is my story.  I am simply the medium through which the story tells itself.  When it decides to tell me what’s going to happen, then I stop thinking for myself, listen to what’s being told to me, and tap away.  This is when the best scenes end up typed out.    

To non-writerly folk, and maybe some who are writerly, this probably sounds nutty.  But it’s true.  I feel like a gift has been given to me in the form of a story with characters I love very much.  

This is no longer my story.  It is truly Juliette and Tristan’s story.