Most of us in the business of writing, publishing, and selling books share a beautiful belief: books are magic. Books have this incredible power to change lives, we know. They offer understanding, compassion, and connection, while at the same time, sweeping us through portals where there are dinosaurs and planets and people both flawed and triumphant.
The act of writing those books is often apportioned its own version of enchantment, too. Credit is given to an unseen force, which causes the characters to act on their own, against the will of the writer, even, or to a muse, that wispy, romantic source of inspiration. But I've found that there's another kind of magical entity at work when I write, something that offers a particular, practical magic.