It dawned on me one evening as I was cleaning up the dinner dishes, my thoughts a million miles away. I’m in love… with my plot.
It’s as though Cupid has shot me right in the bum with a writing-love arrow. I am a lovesick schoolgirl who can’t get 
enough, willing to spend all day doodling hearts on my notebook. Every word out of my mouth, every thought in my head, everything that I write is about my book. I have become that girl. I’m a bit obsessed. (Disclaimer: No bunnies were harmed during this post.)
Try as I might, I can’t escape the very thought of my plot. I find myself constantly thinking of ways for us to do something new and creative, something daring and alluring, something playful and flirty. Something to keep all of us on the edge of our seats, hanging on every word, wanting, no, craving more!
As I become more and more involved with my book, I feel myself opening up to the idea of new possibilities. My plot has a different point of view, though sometimes it’s completely off, 
sometimes the new perspective is exactly what I need. Something that really gets my wheels turning and my thoughts flowing. I so adore my adorable plot for being so good to me.
My mom told me to follow my heart, as most mothers do. My dad told me not to jump in too fast, though no father ever wants their little girl to fall in love. My brother told me that if this book breaks my heart, he’ll break its spine. I told them no matter what happens, I’m in it for the ride of my life. Happiness or heartbreak, I know I can count on my book to stick with me through thick and thin.
I’m really hoping for thick though, like 400 pages or so.
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