Some people talk to plants. I talk to characters… usually when they show up uninvited while I’m doing something else entirely.
People sometimes ask if I’m working on my fourth book right now. If “working” means sitting at the keyboard, brow furrowed, typing furiously into the night, the answer is… not exactly. But if “working” means mentally rehearsing scenes while cooking, negotiating with characters while folding laundry, and collecting story fuel from everyday life like a literary squirrel, then yes… constantly.
The thing is, writers don’t clock out. Even when life temporarily demands most of our attention: shifting schedules, extra obligations, or the general chaos of “adulting,” the story still finds us.
Sometimes it’s subtle: a random line of dialogue appearing while I’m brushing my teeth. Other times, it’s a full-blown mental interruption. Like when I’m packing a box (or let’s say… organizing a suspiciously large stack of papers) and suddenly feel that “tap” on the mental shoulder from a character reminding me that I still haven’t fixed what I did to them on page 64. Or when I’m cooking dinner and they refuse to hand me the salt (figuratively, of course) until I explain what happens in Part Two, because they’re still holding a grudge over how I left them at the end of Part One.
It’s ridiculous. It’s funny. And it’s absolutely part of the process.
Writers are perpetual observers. We notice the hesitation in a stranger’s voice. The sharp scent of rain on pavement. The way a streetlight flickers like it’s keeping secrets. We store these things away without meaning to, only to find them years later in a paragraph we barely remember writing.
So no, I’m not actively drafting Book Four right this minute. But make no mistake… my mind is still turning the gears, running trial scenes, and daydreaming in the background. Life might be busy, but the story is still growing roots beneath the surface.
Because writers are always writing, even when they’re not.
xo Ametra.
