Kelly Haworth

Author of Queer Speculative Romance

Writing by Firelight


Wow, everyone. Long time no blog. Sorry about that. I’ve been busy hammering out the first draft of Read My Mind, and raising a stubborn 3½ year old and an overly-adventurous 8 month old. Life’s been busy. Life’s been hectic. Life’s had a touch of devastation. (I’m looking at you, 2016 election.) But I’m trying hard to hold strong and work my way through. Keep my house clean. Help my son finally potty train. Finish the first draft of this book.

I’m sitting by the fireplace right now, a duraflame log slowly turning to ash to keep me warm. I’m trying to figure out how many pidgey evolves I have. It’s a more peaceful night than usual, which is why I’m attempting a blog.

So let’s talk about what books do to writers and readers.

Each book I write teaches me not just about craft and characterization, but about myself. Someone on a facebook writer’s group today mentioned that writing a book helps an author work through something that happened in their lives.

I look back at books I’ve finished, and I can tell what those things were, at least for some of the older ones. But not so much for the newer ones.

Maybe I’m still in the thick of whatever change they have sparked, and when I look at them in a year or two, I’ll be able to point at part of them and go, here. Here’s when I figured it out.

I can just as much look at books I’ve read and been able to do the same thing. Here, this book I read last year, is what started this revolution of thought.

Maybe a book needs to affect its author for it to properly affect its reader. Maybe those most recent books I’m working on, both still WIPs, haven’t fully moved me yet because they aren’t done. That’s an encouraging thought, because it tells me why they don’t yet feel right. I can sense the potential in the passages, in the emotions and dialogue. But I haven’t yet gotten those manuscripts to sing.

More than ever before I have a desperation to write. Maybe because so much of my life is reserved by everything else. Maybe because I know that this translation of thoughts into words is something that I genuinely want to put my time and energy into. I’d have it be my day job in a heartbeat if I could. But I can’t, not for a few more years anyway.

And by that point, it’s going to depend on how many books I have under my belt, the economy, the possible apocalypse, you know the deal.

In the meantime, I’ll work on these manuscripts and hope they move me. And hope they’ll move you too.

Have a good night, y’all. Go sit by something warm and read something that’ll move you.

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