Is there anything more exciting than starting a new book? The first few pages of breathless exposition–how can he possibly get out of that situation, why does she need to be there–the first meet, the first glance, the first description, all leading up to the inevitable Happy Ever After.

No, wait, that’s not what I meant.

Is there anything more terrifying than starting to write a new book? The first few pages are crucial to setting up the rest of the action, the prose should be compelling, conveying information without too much ‘infodump,’ the set-up should be sufficiently difficult to make your reader wonder just how the hero and heroine are going to get out of their situation and into each others’ arms–that’s a lot of pressure.

Guess what I did yesterday? Yup. Started writing a new book. It was called Clive Owen Goes to Hell, but now I’ve titled it the more sedate Road To Passion. I’ve got 744 words thus far, no clue if they work, or the idea sucks, or where these two are going. But it’s something, and I’m going to plug away at it until I think I know (or my kind reading friends tell me) that it does or doesn’t work.

Wish me luck, I’m off to the wars.