I'm getting ready to put away some recent book purchases from two different UBS runs. I have my pencil at hand to lightly note where books fall within series where applicable. A "2" for Judith E. French's The Barbarian, a "6" and "7" for the two latest in Jo Beverley's Malloren world. After some flipping around, a "1 1/2" for Roberta Gellis's Desiree (confession; I have not yet read this series. I am hoarding against the day when there is some sort of historical romance Y2K crisis so I know I'll have something great to look forward to. )

There are books like that; the ones I save for when I've been very good, or feel very bad. The sort of book that *is* a good friend to hold the reader's hand while life rains down torrents of crud, or pop open the bubbly to make an already good day downright perfect. For candlelit bubble baths or stalled cars with broken heaters. For hospital waiting rooms and plush hotel suites.

They're different for every reader, but what they have in common is the ability to touch the right place in our inner selves, to take on a life of their own. These are the ones I want to write. Not just bestsellers. Bestkeepers.

::ahem:: That was a lot deeper than I'd intended to be today, but it must be my brain getting into writing gear. It looks like I should be able to knuckle down and finish OitS by the end of summer. I like goals, and I work well with deadlines. Most importantly, I've told myself I can't start a new book until I've finished one of the WIPs.