My brain took advantage of my stepping away from Devil’s Eye to steer me toward the brand new shiny red spiral bound notebook that I’d forgotten about at the bottom of a bag of stuff I forgot to put away a month ago (life has been crazy, don’t judge).  Then it steered me toward my favorite pen, the Pilot Frixion (erasable!) and had me start organizing said notebook with parts from Pot’s Blueprint (which, on its own, has a tendency to make me to EEEEEEEP! and run away), a single chunk per page.

Then I just started spewing.  I did sprints with Claire and filled up about 15 pages with notes.  On Red. Yeah, the YA plot bunny that was SUPPOSED to be waiting.  I feel very driven to write this story.  In a rear up, grab me by the throat, pay attention to me damn it, kind of way.

Yes ma’am.

It’s all very old school.  I haven’t written stuff down by hand (owing to my truly heinous handwriting) in years.  I type so much faster and cleaner.  But it was kind of nice.  Having to write slow enough to be legible, I think it forces me to be better about organizing my thoughts before I actually put them down.  Which is not at all a bad thing.

So I’ve actually made HUGE strides toward putting together the skeleton of that book.  I would really like to sit down during my writing time this weekend and clearly hammer out my outline–all the scenes and what I want to show with them.

I think it kind of confirms something that’s been kicking around in my brain for a while: Too much of one thing does not a happy Kait make (unless you are talking about cookie dough).  I’ve been hanging out in this Mirus world for 2 years.  A lot of that time was developing lore and writing stuff that isn’t ever gonna see the light of day.  Forsaken By Shadow was the third or fourth thing I wrote in that universe.  But anyway, as much as I love it, I think I need a break from it and a chance to work on something wholly unrelated and different.

Somewhere in the middle of working on Red, I expect the solution to my problem in Devil’s Eye will rear up and say “Look at me!!!!”, and then I’ll go fix it.  In the meantime, I’ll keep moving forward on something new.  I think this is probably going to wind up being a pattern for me (I hope).  Where I finish 1 Mirus story and 1 something else (of which I have a loooooooong list of possibilities) each year.  I still plan on Devil’s Eye being my second release this year, albeit a very low key one, simply because it’s so much shorter and when the solution DOES occur to me, it won’t take long to finish.  But I’m definitely excited about moving forward with Red.

I had high hopes of finishing Devil’s Eye over Labor Day, but I just don’t think it’s gonna happen because I’m cutting a bunch of stuff.  I pretty well hate my pinch points and everything following the midpoint.  And my ending was never REALLY that clear to begin with.  Blah.

I’m not abandoning the story–can’t very well let that fabu cover art go to waste.  But I think I need to step away from it for a little while to gain some perspective and come back with fresh ideas for how to flesh out the second half that are going to keep things interesting and action packed.  I need a better bad guy.  And he needs to file a formal complaint with Minions ‘R Us because the ones they sent over this round were totally lame and way too easily defeated. Monday I wrote what was quite possibly the LAMEST CHASE SCENE EVAR!

I’m trying not to beat myself up over this, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t freaked out about my apparent inability to finish anything this year.  Revelation stalled out after 21k.  Edge of Shadow hasn’t gone beyond outline yet. Devil’s Eye has stalled out twice.  Despite my long list of stuff I’ve accomplished this year on a professional or marketing front, the fact remains that I have not finished anything creative since I finished up Forsaken By Shadow at the end of January.  And now it’s September 1st  (Summer, you can go on vacation now and make way for Fall; kbaithx). I’ve written over 67k words this year.  August was the first month to come back to January’s level of productivity, which is yay.  But only one thing is finished and it bugs me!!!

Jamie Debree made a fabulous comment yesterday about how the self-publishing career is like a perennial plant: the first year it sleeps, the second it creeps, the third it leaps. I really love that idea.  So much that I want to print it and put it somewhere I can see easily as a reminder that right now I’m in that first year, and I need to give myself a break.

Possibly this is my brain’s sneaky way of manufacturing a hormonal crisis to clear my calendar for a few days to allow me to tear through Cassandra Clare’s Clockwork Angel.  I was planning to hold it for ransom and now allow myself to open it until I finish Devil’s Eye. But it’s calling to me, whispering sweet nothings and trying to seduce me.

Maybe I could use a fling…

But I’d really like to finish some of the OTHER books I’m in the middle of, like Shadow Hills, The Demon’s Covenant, and The Lightning Thief.

The first example that springs to mind is, of course, J.A. Konrath, who is perhaps the most visible poster boy for the indie movement. It is regularly tossed around that he’ll be making 100k from epublishing on Amazon this year.  Many naysayers prefer to attribute this to his already established fanbase from having been a successful midlist author with his Jack Daniels series and his lengthy and impressive list of publicity feats.  And maybe this had something to do with it.  But he also was able to release a number of titles fairly close together.  He’s prolific.  As he’s able to write full time, he has the time to be.

Then there’s Karen McQuestion, less well known, no prior following from an established backlist of titles. Yet she’s making comparable money on her assorted titles.  From what I’ve gathered, she simultaneously released several things at once (or perhaps really close together).  She had a number of pieces just hanging around that she decided to polish up and put out herself.  She has six titles out, last I checked.

And now the latest success story, which I was delighted to hear about, is Amanda Hocking, who, with her latest release rocketed all the way up to number 25 in the entire Kindle store. Amanda’s story I find particularly interesting.  She didn’t put her first Kindle book out until FEBRUARY THIS YEAR.  FEBRUARY!  Like 7 months ago!  And it’s looking like she’s going to make 9-10k JUST in the month of August.  She’s turned in notice at her job.  Congratulations, Amanda!  She has 5 titles out.  It doesn’t appear she just had a lot of already written stuff lying around to release.  She really does apparently write that fast.

So what’s the commonality here?

Well, presumably all of them put out well-written, well-edited stuff to begin with.  Crap is not going to sell well, at least not for long.  All of them have consistently good reviews.   So the quality of their work goes without saying as a given.

The other consistent theme here is multiple titles. Particularly multiple titles out in a short span of time.  I find this both unsurprising and a little depressing.  I’m not surprised because once readers latch on to an author they like, they keep an eye out for the next books out by that author.  The faster the author can produce said books, the happier readers are.  Indies, not being bound by the constraints of traditional publishing, can satisfy readers in a matter of months instead of a year or more.

It’s a little depressing because, well, I just can’t do that.  I’ve got too much on my plate to turn out more than a couple of titles a year.  And this year those couple of titles are both short.  Novella and novelette (though, if you’ve been following me at all, you know that this is not at all a normal year for me).  I have no idea how prolific I might be if I could write full time.  I haven’t been in that position since I was in college and still had time for daily afternoon naps (oh how I miss afternoon naps!).

One thing is clear, they key to making decent money at self publishing centers around having multiple, well-written, well-edited titles out–no matter how long it takes you to get there.

Of course there’s still the issue of effective promo, but that’s a topic for another post.

I need to get back to work.

:headdesk:

So this morning since I came in, I’ve been fielding student emails, shaking my head at the monumental stupidity of some of them (Idiocracy is happening, I’m telling you), and writing said content as fast as humanly possible.  Which is why it’s nearly 11 and I’m only just now getting around to blogging for you.  I’m down to finishing my bio, grading discussion boards (big yuck), my words for the day, and a couple of articles that are simply not going to get done because by this afternoon my boss will remember I exist (she was in staff meetings all morning).

I can almost breathe.

This is why at most of my jobs I deliberately operate at about 60% of my true efficiency, so that when stuff happens, I can kick it into turbo and I have something left to pull from!

So as I said, I’m aiming for a whopping 6k this week.  The end is in sight for Devil’s Eye. I REALLY REALLY want the first draft finished and out to betas by next Tuesday so that I can dive in to Elodie’s story. 

Red is going to be very different from anything I’ve written before.  Usually I start out knowing the beginning and the end, a general concept of major points for the middle, and no clue about inner demons or character arcs.  This book originated from inner demons and I’ve totally filled in almost all of my middle with no clue about the specifics of the beginning or quite how it ends.  It’s very disturbing to have the hard stuff come easy and the easy stuff be hard.  So I’m ready to focus on plot threads and plot points and hammer out the details.

At least Robin found Elodie’s face.

Back to the grindstone!

***

Chapter 3

Le Loup Garou. The sign glowed neon bright above the shuttered windows.

Embry wondered if it was designed to appeal to curious tourists who came to the Crescent City in search of myth and legend, then decided it probably wasn’t. They weren’t in the French Quarter and nowhere near Bourbon Street. This was a neighborhood place, tucked between a darkened law office and a building with space for lease.

Cade pulled open the paneled door. Blues, rich and soulful, spilled out to color the night. “After you,” he gestured.

Moving in a way that she hoped resembled a slow, deliberate, Watch Me walk, Embry moved past him, feeling his eyes on her as she stepped through the tiny vestibule and into the light and sounds of the bar. She blinked a moment, waiting for her eyes to adjust. The walls were exposed brick, dominated by a mirror behind a long, polished bar. Black and white photographs in cypress wood frames drew the eye here and there. On the wall opposite the bar, a jumbo flat screen TV played a recap of what she recognized as another fight that had been on tonight’s ticket.

“Hey! Hail the conquerin’ hero!”

Embry shifted her gaze to the bartender who held some bottle aloft by the neck in salute to Cade, who’d stepped up beside her.

With a grin and a flourish, Cade made a mocking bow to the tune of applause from most of the patrons present. “Another title won! Y’all know what that means?” He pointed his finger toward the audience.

“Hot wings!” came the resounding chorus.

“On me!”

Embry felt her lips quirk as he placed a hand on the small of her back to navigate her toward the bar. “Isn’t a round of drinks more traditional?”

“Yeah but Mick’s place makes the best damned hot wings in the city, and I’m always starving after a fight.”

“I already put da order in to Jeanette,” said the bartender, sliding a mug the length of the bar to a waiting hand.

“How’s business tonight, my man?” asked Cade bumping fists with the other man.

“Always good on fight night.” Mick’s eyes moved over to Embry. “And who’s dis lovely lady?”

“Mick, Embry. Embry, Micajah Guidry, owner of this fine establishment.”

When the bartender offered his hand, Embry took it, surprised when he raised it to his lips in a gallant kiss. “Either da prizes have gotten way better dis season, or your taste has improved considerable.”

“Pay no attention to him, Embry. I assure you—”

She didn’t hear whatever comeback Cade made. Her amusement faded as she saw Mick’s nostrils flare, inhaling her scent. For a moment his eyes glowed, flicking to hers in appraisal.

Son of a bitch, she thought, fighting to control her own flare of alarm. The bastard certainly had a sense of humor.  Only a wolf-shifter would think naming a bar Le Loup Garou and hiding in plain sight was funny.

“Hey now, hands off my date, Cajun,” said Cade, tugging her hand away and tucking a possessive arm around her.

“No offense, but you playin’ wit’ fire wit’ dis one.”

“I swear, I’m a puppy dog,” protested Cade.

But Embry knew perfectly well what Mick had meant. He knew what she was.

Satisfied that his warning had been received, the Wylk’s attention shifted to Cade. “Your usual?”

Cade nodded.

“How about you, cher? Wine? G and T? Amaretto sour?”

“Martini. Dirty.” Because her legs felt a little shaky, Embry slid onto a barstool.

Her mind buzzed with calculation. Was the mission compromised? Would she be reported? Surely not. This wolf had no idea what she was about, what she wanted Cade for. As far as he knew, she was just his date, nothing more. It wasn’t like she had a badge tattooed on her forehead that proclaimed her IED.

Mick passed Cade a beer and set the martini in front of her before folding his arms and leaning conversationally on the bar. “So where he pick you up, cher? You not from around here.”

“I was at the fight,” she replied, taking a careful sip and humming in approval.

“Front row,” said Cade cheerfully.

“She was what you was lookin’ at when Archer clocked you one?”

Cade rubbed at the knot on his head. “It was a moment.”

“You lucky he didn’t knock you da fuck out, da way you was all moony-eyed.”

“Hey, first, I object to the term moony-eyed. Second, I tied Archer’s ass up in a bow during that second round. Forgive the coon ass, Embry.  He thinks being my best friend obliges him to give me shit about women.”

Best friend. Great. She took another sip of the martini. “So how did you two meet? You’re not from New Orleans either, are you, Cade? I mean, your accent doesn’t match.”

There was the briefest moment of hesitation before he answered, “Memphis actually. Been in New Orleans for about ten years now. My first place wasn’t too far from here, and I came in one night after work. There were a couple of defensive linemen from Tulane who took offense when Mick cut ’em off.”

“Cade helped take out da trash,” said Mick picking up the narrative. “Not dat I couldn’a handled ’em myself.”

“Of course you could,” said Cade. “But whatever, I helped.”

“He has a beautiful left cross, him,” said Mick affecting wiping away a tear.

“True dat,” agreed Cade with a grin. “We bonded over a bottle of tequila after closing time. Been tight ever since.”

A door at the far end of the bar swung open and a trio of waitresses sashayed out carrying trays loaded up with baskets of hot wings. One of them, a buxom blonde in a babydoll T-shirt at least one size too small, flounced over and placed two baskets on the bar in front of them. She offered Cade a toothy grin, “Who’s the flavor of the week, Cade?”

Embry diverted the flare of temper to the glass in her hand and totally ruined her martini.

A petite woman with salt and pepper hair slipped between the waitress and the bar to set down a basket of fries. “Watch yo’ mouth. Just ’cause he don’t wanna warm yo’ bed, don’t mean he can’t look elsewhere. You got tables.”

With a huff, the blond sashayed away.

Satisfaction warred with embarrassment, and Embry fought to keep both off her face as the woman swung in her direction. The dark, sharp eyes studied her with interest for several moments before she turned to Cade, taking his face between her red-nail tipped fingers and planting a smacking kiss on his mouth. “Congrats on your win, cher.”

Smiling sheepishly, Cade enfolded the woman in a massive bear hug. “Thanks Jeanette.” He shifted her around until they were both facing Embry. “This is Embry Hollister. Embry, this is my New Orleans Maman, Jeanette Benoit.”

Best friend and his current mother figure. What is this, Embry wondered, a meet the family kind of date? It wasn’t at all what she’d had in mind. She’d never be able to slip him the antidote beneath their watchful eyes.

Embry forced her lips to curve and held her hand out to Jeanette. “Nice to meet you.”

The other woman took her hand, her eyes glazing over a moment, her smile frozen in place. Then Jeannette blinked, releasing her hand. “You are different.”

Though her senses jangled with alarm, she forced her voice to be light. “He’s not usually into red-heads?”

Jeanette made a non-committal noise, then patted Cade’s shoulder and headed back to the kitchen.

Cade missed the exchange, as he was busy replying to the assorted wave of thank yous being tossed out from the rest of the de facto fan club who were likewise digging into their wings. He didn’t notice her sudden tension. Mick noticed. From the other end of the bar, he lifted a brow and looked back at the kitchen.

Embry’s mind raced, analyzing the exchange in an attempt to catalogue the threat. Witch? One with the power of Sight? She’d made no subtle warning or challenge as Mick had, so maybe this Jeannette wasn’t an immediate threat.

Embry shifted to study the crowd, as much from habit as to settle herself again. Among the patrons she counted a vampire, two other Wylk, and a male witch who was illegally working a charm on the woman he was with. Embry could have busted him, but she wasn’t on duty, and she sure as hell wasn’t about to blow her shot at this mission.

“You okay?” asked Cade. “Wings not your thing? I’m sorry, I should’ve asked. Would you like something else?”

Embry dialed the smile back up and focused on him. “No, I’m fine. Just a little overwhelmed. I’ve been in a lot of crowds tonight.”

“Not into big presses of people, huh?”

“Not really.”

“Me neither,” he admitted.

“Really? But the crowds love you.”

“They love whoever the winner of the minute is. Tomorrow that may not be me.”

“Then what?” she asked. “What will you do when you can’t fight anymore?”

“Damned if I know.” He made short work of the rest of his wings. “What about you? What do you do?”

She slanted a glance down the bar to where Mick was chatting with a couple of other patrons. He didn’t move, didn’t glance her way, but Embry knew he was listening. “I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.”

Cade’s lips curved in a killer smile she felt straight down to her gut. “A woman of mystery. Okay, I can respect that. So you won’t tell me what you do, tell me something else about yourself.”

Time to get the show on the road, she thought placing a hand on his forearm and leaning in close. “I secretly hate high heels,” she whispered. “But you can’t tell anyone. They’ll take away my woman card.”

His eyes raked over her in appreciation. “Sugar, nobody could ever take your woman card away.”

She leaned back, crossing her legs so the hemline rode high, drawing his eyes again. “Yeah, well, it has its uses.”

“Like making guys drool?”

“Well, we sure don’t do it for us.”

He threw back his head and laughed. God, how she’d missed that sound.

“Well on behalf of my side of the species, thank God for it.” He raised his glass.

She tapped her martini glass against the lip with a cheerful clink, then drained the last of her spoiled drink.

“Want another?” he asked, starting to signal for Mick.

Embry shook her head and bent toward him.  “Let’s get out of here,” she whispered, letting her lips brush against the lobe of his ear.

His big body tensed in a shiver before he tipped his eyes back to hers. “Yes ma’am.”

* * *

If you enjoyed this snippet and want to know what happens, Forsaken By Shadow is available on Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Smashwords, Sony, Scribd, SpringBrook Digital, Kobo, Diesel, and Amazon UK.

If you’re intrigued by Mick, be on the lookout for my next release, a novelette called Devil’s Eye.  Coming soon!

Remember: it was probably some classic of literature, not a NY Times Bestseller, that originally inspired you to become a writer in the first place.

Hold the phone.

This would seem to indicate that we are all inspired by the so-called literary greats of a predominantly white male canon that’s been shoved down our throats and overanalyzed in English lit classes from middle school on and imply that such inspiration is not likely to be as forthcoming from popular fiction.

While I will readily admit that Catcher In The Rye resonated with me, and I have a serious soft spot for Shakespeare, absolutely NONE of the literature or classics I read, in school or out, EVER inspired me to write.  Frankly, other than Jane Austen, I don’t think I’ve picked up a so-called classic since I graduated from college and got to move on to fun reading (and I’d wager a lot that most other people haven’t either).  I don’t read Oprah’s latest pick, and the idea of a book club makes me break out in hives.  Such books always feel pretentious to me, as if everyone reads them because they’re supposed to, as a cultural norm.  So finding inspiration in those books–no, not so much.

What DID inspire me to write?  Paranormal.  L.J. Smith, in particular, when she came out the first time in the early 90s.  I loved stories about the fantastic, the otherworldly, particularly romances with those elements.  L.J. Smith had soulmates.  Be still my happy little romantic teen heart.  There was no Stephanie Meyer or any of the glut of awesome YA that there is today.  We were stuck with crappy YA that moralized and seemed to think that teenagers had the mental capacity of your average 12 year old and the hormones of college students.  Oh I wrote before then.  Best friend stories inspired by the adventures I wanted to be having.  My inspiration author before that was Madeleine L’Engle, who still touches me today.  But fundamentally, I was inspired to write more of what I wanted to read.

And I hazard a guess that most writers are more like me.  I only know one or two other writers who have any designs of writing something that might possibly deserve the designation of “literature”.  The vast majority are interested in writing popular fiction.  Because, and here’s a big shock, that’s what the declining reading public actually WANTS TO READ.  Reading is escapism at its finest.  We generally don’t want to have to think deep thoughts that might make a good topic for an English lit paper.  And I really have a hard time believing that any of us who love popular fiction got our inspiration from anything other than something else classified as popular fiction.  We mostly write what we like to read.  And let’s face it, if they eliminated the required reading for school, literature books would not be jumping off the bookstore shelves.

But I am a scientist by training, so I’m gathering some informal hard data in the form of a poll.  Weigh in.  Who inspired you to write?

And a snippet to torture you with–the opening to my YA novel, Red, so you can see what’s been keeping me up at night (and yes, I made the text green just to be contrary):

I was thirteen when I found out why my mother left me.

The letter that came on my birthday that year was such a shock to my poor dad.  Given its contents, if I hadn’t been the one to snag the mail that day, I doubt he would ever have let me see it.

Given how he looks at me now—as if his beloved daughter has been replaced by a monster, one that can’t be evicted from the house because it still bears her face—I wish I hadn’t let him see it.

But at thirteen I couldn’t wrap my brain around the enormity of what my mother was imparting.  I thought it was a joke.  Dad thought she’d gone mad.  But everything has unfolded so much as she predicted that it’s hard to ignore the fact that she could be right.  That I am a monster, just waiting for the proper catalyst to be unleashed.

That I am cursed, as she was.

I’m moving forward on Devil’s Eye, and barring unforeseen complications, I expect to have a first draft finished in 3 weeks (2 if I really hoof it, but I’m not holding my breath).  Which then leaves me with approximately 3 months (less probably a week of revisions to DE) to write Edge of Shadow, the novella follow-up to Forsaken By Shadow, which follows one of the other escapees from Fort Hurley. It’s slated to come in a little bit longer than FBS, around 40k, best I remember (I haven’t opened the outline since I started DE).  It is next on the docket simply because of all the potential projects floating around in my brain, it stands the best chance of actually being finished and ready for distribution in time for Christmas when half the world gets a new Kindle.  It’s a purely marketing decision as to what comes next.  And, okay, it’s a frantic last ditch effort to say “I did something this year!” because I feel very much like my goals have been massively derailed.

Pot thinks I’m being unreasonably hard on myself, and I probably am.  I just feel like I haven’t accomplished all that much.  At least until she made me start listing it.  I finished FBS, released and promoted it (which, let’s face it, takes time, especially the first time when you’re still learning).  I’ve continued to grow my internet footprint and maintain my blogging and Twitter following.  I will have written and released a novelette (Devil’s Eye) as a freebie which is more promo.  I’ve helped found the Indie Book Collective (launching September 13th!  More on that later).  I’ve written two college classes from scratch (no small feat on top of other jobs).  I’ve (mostly) maintained a regular food blog at Pots and Plots, which involves a great deal of planning, cooking, picture taking and editing, post writing etc.  I took over EVERYTHING from March until July while hubby healed up from a broken leg.

So okay, yeah, I did stuff.  Not necessarily all the stuff I wanted, but I did stuff.  Nobody can call me a slacker, least of all myself. All of which is a round about way of getting at the fact that what I am motivated to work on next has nothing to do with my Mirus world, and I’m trying to decide whether I’m going to stick to the plan or not worry about getting anything else beyond Devil’s Eye out this year and just, well, play for a while.  The book that I’m itching to work on is a YA that I had slated for next year, working title Red.  I haven’t outlined it yet, and only last week figured out a HUGE MAJOR important detail that affects the entire plot.  So I’m thinking that once the first draft of Devil’s Eye is off my plate and out to betas, I’ll take a week to outline it.  I’m guessing it’ll probably come in between 60-70k, which would take me 4-5 months to write.  If I started it next, it would probably (in theory) be ready for release around the same time FBS was released this year.  Late March.  See how much I live in my head and plan everything?  It’s a sickness.

We had three biological boys in four years and then I was diagnosed with cervical cancer. I had a hysterectomy and while I mourned the fact that I couldn’t have any more biological children, I was certain our family wasn’t finished. My husband wasn’t so sure. I’d talked about adopting and I always saw us with a little girl from China. He came up with a ton of reasons why now wasn’t the right time to adopt. Then, on Mother’s Day of 2005, he leaned over to me in church and said, “We have a daughter in China. We need to start the adoption proceedings to bring her home.” I adjusted to this unexpected news (we hadn’t discussed adoption for months) in about 15 seconds.

The next day, we began researching adoption and we picked out her name: Johanna Faith. Johanna means God’s Gracious Gift and Faith is what it is taking to bring her home. We signed up with Chinese Children Adoption International agency based out of Colorado. We completed our stateside paperwork and homestudy within a few months, sent off our dossier to China with the understanding that it would be a 6-8 month wait, and eagerly planned to bring our daughter home. Soon, though, we began to hear rumors that the wait time was extending. Then we heard that the government had cracked down on orphanages who were receiving money from the state but who weren’t keeping all of their beds full and the wait slowed to a crawl. Our dreams of having her home for Christmas were dashed. And then our dreams for having her home in time for summer were dashed as well. Before we knew it, another Christmas had passed and we were still waiting. Meanwhile, the Olympics were coming to Beijing, and the word was most adoption processes would stop altogether because China didn’t want unfavorable international attention on their orphanages.

As the wait stretched from 8 months to three years, I struggled with depression. I could hardly bear Christmas, because she wasn’t yet there. I shut the door of her bedroom and left it closed because I couldn’t bear to walk past it in the hall. It hurt to think about having a child out there whom I couldn’t protect. Couldn’t love. Couldn’t save. Three years became four with no real change. Our homestudy expired. Our immigration petition expired. Three times. Our fingerprints expired. Four times. And China raised the orphanage and court fees by thousands while we waited. Suddenly, the cushion of money we’d fundraised at the start of this process was almost gone and China was picking up speed in their child match program.

In September, it will be five years since we officially started our adoption process to bring Johanna home. We expect to receive her picture, information, and permission to travel sometime by the middle of September.

I opened her bedroom door for the first time in 3 1/2 years.

And we need to raise 8k to cover travel and the cash required to pay the orphanage for Johanna’s freedom.

Come on folks!  Give of yourselves and bring a child home to her family!  Each donation enters you in a drawing to win PRIZES.  Please check out. C.J.’s blog for a listing of all of them (as there are too many of them to list here).  Giveaways are open through 11 PM August 25th.