Does writing a world in 30 days make me one-tenth God?


Eight years out of practice, a disorganized, gleefully introverted gal is planning to write a novel… in 30 days.  It’s a neglected passion that never quite got the chance to grow into a talent.  Will it accept her back into its embrace, or reject her for the thirty year old normal she’s almost become?  What is the role of world-building for a character-driven author?  Does that shelf of dog-eared writing guidebooks prove valuable or pretentious?  Will her writing be poignant, or smutty?  Can it be both?  What will happen if her creation disappoints her?

Even more scarily, she asks herself, what if it doesn’t?



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