With my new novel done and in the “will anyone publish this thing I adore” limbo phase as my agent reads it, I’m in the creative freefall that happens between major projects.

I do a kind of active space-out: not quite brainstorming, not quite waiting for inspiration. Like trying to dream on purpose, feel out ideas, reject a hundred things, wait for the one that glows.

I start with character, and I have one now, and she’s a she, and I’m feeling her out, getting to know her. And then tonight a world sprang up around her and it all feels good and weird and lushly promising.