Lily Writes

Writing updates, construction headaches, bossy characters, and a reminder of what really matters.

There’s a diesel truck backing up somewhere behind my house.

Again.

The air brakes hiss. Something metallic crashes. Heavy equipment rumbles along the road, and another day of construction begins.

It’s been going on since March.

All. Summer. Long.

The city tells us the roadwork should be finished by Halloween. I’m looking forward to that almost as much as the neighborhood kids are looking forward to candy.

Almost.

This morning, I’m working through the final edits of Love Nut, doing my best to ignore the symphony of diesel engines, backup alarms, and occasional earth-shaking bangs coming from the road behind our home.

It’s wearing. The constant noise. The interruptions. The inability to sit outside and enjoy a quiet morning without feeling like I’ve accidentally wandered onto a construction site.

But here’s the thing.

Our construction has an end date.

That thought keeps bringing me back to the people living near the massive data center being built in Saline, Michigan.

I wonder what their lives will be like when the construction ends.

Because unlike our roadwork, the impact of a data center doesn’t necessarily disappear when the heavy equipment leaves.

The energy demands. The water consumption. The potential effects on groundwater and the electrical grid. The noise from cooling equipment and other infrastructure. The environmental consequences we may not fully understand until years from now.

And the people who have to live with all of it.

It bothers me that we’re moving so quickly to build these facilities without, in my view, enough meaningful checks and balances. Where’s the comprehensive planning? The independent environmental oversight? The long-term consideration of what these enormous projects mean for communities, natural resources, and the people living nearby?

Technology is advancing at an extraordinary pace. I’m not opposed to progress. But I do think progress should come with responsibility, transparency, and a willingness to ask difficult questions before—not after—we discover the consequences.

Maybe I’ve read too many dystopian novels.

Too much Michael Crichton.

Or maybe I have just enough science background to be skeptical when someone tells me that something this enormous, this resource-intensive, and this rapidly expanding is an unquestionably good idea.

Crichton was particularly good at exploring what happens when human ambition outruns our willingness to consider the consequences.

I keep thinking about that.

Meanwhile, Back in Pinkerton Falls…

Fortunately, I have an escape hatch.

It’s called writing romance.

When I’m immersed in Love Nut, the construction noise fades into the background. I’m not thinking about data centers, the electrical grid, or the latest threats to voting rights.

At least not for a little while.

Reality has a way of sneaking back in, no matter how thoroughly I try to ignore it. But there’s something wonderful about stepping into a fictional world where I know the people, understand their problems, and can guarantee that, eventually, they’ll find their happily ever after.

Even if I make them work for it.

Love Nut is in its final editing stage, and I’m polishing Ali and Miles’s story before publication.

Ali Hain Jackson is a single mother who’s convinced herself she’s perfectly content without romance. Miles Redford owns Now & Forever Tattoos and is considerably more interested in Ali than she realizes.

And then there’s Max.

Ali’s seventeen-year-old son has decided that his mother needs a love life before he heads off to college. He’s intelligent, determined, and just meddlesome enough to create the sort of romantic chaos I love writing.

Honestly, Max has been entirely too much fun.

But while I’m wrapping up their story, another character has been making his presence known.

Loudly.

Apollo Has Apparently Decided It’s His Turn

I’m also working on the first draft of Orbit, Apollo’s story in my new Hounds of Hell series.

Technically, Orbit isn’t supposed to be the first book.

That honor belongs to Plutone and Inevitable.

Apollo doesn’t care.

He’s decided his story needs to be told, and he’s not particularly interested in waiting for his turn.

Characters can be so bossy.

Getting back into my regular writing rhythm after three weeks away has been an adjustment. I usually settle into my routine fairly quickly, but this time I’m finding myself working more deliberately.

Instead of racing through the first draft, I’m writing a chapter, going back to reread it, reconsidering what I’ve written, and then rewriting it.

Again.

And again.

The prologue alone has gone through at least seven drafts.

Seven.

At some point, you have to wonder whether you’re being meticulous or simply avoiding the next chapter.

But there’s a reason for all this revisiting.

Although Orbit takes place within the larger Vanguardian universe, it’s also the beginning of a new series. I want readers who have never encountered a Vanguardian, a Seraphi, or the mysterious connection known as the Zing to be able to pick up this book and enjoy the story without feeling as though they’ve walked into the middle of a conversation.

That’s a delicate balancing act.

I know this world. I’ve spent years building it. I know its history, its secrets, its conflicts, and the complicated relationships between its people.

But new readers don’t.

And they shouldn’t need a spreadsheet to figure out what’s happening.

Which means I have to resist the temptation to explain everything at once.

A little world-building here. A carefully revealed secret there. Enough information to understand what’s happening without slowing down the romance or burying the reader beneath a mountain of backstory.

And Apollo?

He’s not exactly a patient man.

Neither am I, apparently.

I keep wanting to rush ahead to the scenes I’m excited about. The emotional confrontations. The revelations. The moments when attraction becomes something neither character can ignore.

But rereading and rewriting are forcing me to be more intentional.

Less impulsive.

More thoughtful about pacing, character development, and how much information belongs on the page at any given moment.

Craft.

I’m crafting.

Yes. That’s what I’m calling it.

Not procrastination. Not obsessively rewriting the same scene.

Crafting.

Sounds much better, doesn’t it?

Speaking of Impulsive Decisions…

I booked another trip.

I know.

We just returned from three weeks of traveling, and I promised my partner that we wouldn’t be going anywhere near an airport for the rest of the year.

Apparently, I lied.

But this trip is different.

My brother and his wife are celebrating their fiftieth wedding anniversary over Thanksgiving weekend.

Fifty years.

Think about that for a moment. Half a century of sharing a life. Raising a family. Weathering whatever challenges came along. Building memories, traditions, and a history that belongs to the two of them.

That’s worth celebrating under any circumstances.

But for my brother, reaching this milestone is particularly extraordinary.

He’s been battling four different types of stage-four cancer. His doctors have given him expectations that he’s repeatedly managed to exceed.

He’s a fighter.

A stubborn, determined fighter.

And he’s going to make it to his fiftieth wedding anniversary.

That’s a big deal.

A very big deal.

So my sister, my other brother, and our spouses are flying out to Washington State to celebrate with them.

For some reason, my brother seems surprised that we’re making the effort.

How could we not?

There are moments in life when you simply show up.

You don’t wait for a more convenient time. You don’t worry about the cost of airline tickets or whether you’ve already traveled too much this year. You don’t assume there will always be another opportunity.

You go.

Because fifty years of marriage deserves a celebration.

Because my brother has fought so hard to be here for it.

And because being together matters.

Especially now.

With everything happening in the world—the political turmoil, the constant noise, the uncertainty about what comes next—it’s easy to become overwhelmed by things we can’t control.

But when I strip away all that noise, what matters most becomes remarkably clear.

Family.

Health.

Love.

And being present for the people who matter to us.

So we’re going back to Washington State.

When I told my partner about the trip, he reminded me that I’d promised we were finished with airports for the year.

I reminded him that this was different.

He sighed.

And then he helped make the reservations.

He gets me.

Finding the Quiet

Today is another beautiful Michigan fall day.

The trees are turning brilliant shades of gold, orange, and red, but most of their leaves are still hanging on. The air has that wonderful autumn crispness, and the light is beginning to take on the softer quality I love to paint.

It’s a perfect day to get outside with my plein air supplies.

I’m hoping to squeeze in a few more painting sessions before the weather decides that standing outdoors with a paintbrush is an unreasonable activity.

But first, I’m finishing another round of edits on Love Nut.

Then I’ll pack up my paints, find a beautiful spot, and spend a few hours trying to capture what autumn looks like before it disappears.

While I’m painting, I’ll probably be thinking about Orbit.

Apollo will undoubtedly have something to say about how his next few chapters should unfold.

He usually does.

And later, when the afternoon fades into evening, I’ll turn on the fire table and settle into a chair outside.

Earplugs in, of course.

The construction is still going on.

The world is still complicated.

There are problems I can’t solve, decisions being made that worry me, and far too many things competing for my attention.

But there are also books to write. Paintings to create. Beautiful autumn days to enjoy.

And a fiftieth wedding anniversary to celebrate with people I love.

Maybe that’s the balance I’m looking for.

Not ignoring the things that trouble me, but refusing to let them consume everything else.

Because life is happening right now. Not when the road construction ends. Not when the political climate settles down. Not when the world finally makes sense.

Right now.

And I don’t want to miss the good parts while I’m worrying about the rest.

Some things are worth worrying about. Some things are worth fighting for. And some things are worth getting on another airplane.

Even when you promised you wouldn’t.