Rachel Lee's Blog

I don't know who you are, and I don't know much about you. But I do know something very important:

Your faithful, loyal friend is waiting for you right beside the road where you left him. He's not looking very good right now. His ribs are sticking out enough that you can see them at 45 mph as you pass. It's obvious he hasn't eaten in a long time, and just as obvious that he hasn't been brushed in months.

He stands there right on the shoulder, panting in the Florida heat, watching every car that approaches. He's looking for you.

Other people stop and try to help. But he darts

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I hate this. I spent nearly the first 50+ years of my life with unassailable good health. No longer. I've reached a stage of existence where I actually can discuss the pros and cons of a variety of antibiotics with my doctor.

"Oh that one makes me cranky."

"That one gives me heart palpitations."

"That one keeps me from sleeping."

I have a friend who needs a platelet donation right now, and I can't give because I'm taking antibiotics. What's with this?

Which is not to say I never got ill in the past. No, I had some major crises, like polio when I was a toddler, and I lost

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I'm going to be signing a contract soon to write a couple of books for Nocturne. Yes, they're vampire romances, but I want to assure you that you'll find the same community feel that you like in Conard County.

My vampire has a problem with being a vampire, so he fights on the side of good. And he has a couple of wacky assistants, plus a romantic interest who is driving him nuts.

It's moody, but funny, and I promise some surprises. Mostly they'll give me a change of pace between CC books so I don't go stale on you.

CC will continue. There are four books still in the pipeline, the

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Seriously.

Some days almost anything, including a root canal, seems preferable to writing. Those are the days when the words slip away like eels, when the ideas hover just out of reach. You can sense them there, you can almost hear them buzzing like an annoying mosquito, but when you look...they're gone.

On days like today, I wish I'd picked another profession. I wish I'd stayed in computer programming. I hate being my own boss, and my own disciplinarian. I hate the story I'm writing because it has a stubbornness of its own I can't reason with.

And yet as everyone who writes

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