There'll be Parties for Hosting, Marshmallows for Roasting...

I looked up from my Christmas present wrapping to see my little boy sitting in the middle of a tangled mess of red ribbon.  It was wrapped around his little fingers lying in twists and turns all around him on the floor.  He beamed with happiness at his accomplishment.  While I had been busy measuring and cutting in the floor beside him, he had been busy unwinding an entire spool of ribbon in his lap. 

“Look Mommy, I have tape in one hand and ribbon in the other,” he said quoting his favorite Curious George story. 

Normally this is when my “Oh no, there’s a mess” tendencies kick in, but this time I just laughed.  We were having too much fun wrapping Mr. Alpha Male’s Christmas presents to worry about messes.  I have discovered recently that in trying to meet preholiday work deadlines, getting ready for parties, baking cookies, and buying gifts; I have forgotten to just enjoy the Christmas season.  My nose has either been in my laptop, or I’ve been scurrying around with a mile long to do list.  I have not stopped to enjoy the simple pleasure of laughing while wrapping presents or actually watching a cheesy Christmas movie on tv.  It’s an easy mistake to make, to live for the day at the end of the paper chain and not take the time to enjoy all the little links in between that make up the Christmas season.

“It’s not Christmas.” My little boy utters those words every morning when I go into his room to wake him up for the past week.  And every morning I tell him, “It’s not Christmas day, but it is the Christmas Season.”  The anticipation of Christmas Day is almost too much for any two year old to bare.  The presents, the cookies, the lights, the friends and the family that are all wrapped up into what makes Christmas the most wonderful time of the year.  But are we just counting down the days, or living everyday with the love that this season is built around?

Counting down the days…I can remember as a child making chains of red and green construction paper to symbolize the passing days to Christmas.  I would hang it on the wood paneled wall of the family room by the door to the kitchen.  Unfortunately, I don’t think my daily Christmas reminder ever made it to the big day, as I grew up with two older brothers that liked to jump and rip and tackle.  I’ve been thinking about my little paper chains this year more than ever because I am not only counting down the days to Christmas, but also counting down words left to write until I finish my book.

 I think as we get older we never really lose that sense of wonder involved with looking forward to a big box with a bright red bow under the tree on Christmas morning.  Instead, I think it is only what is wrapped up in those packages that changes over the years.  Is it simply survival of all the shopping, family visits and parties that await us under the tree?  The end of a long difficult journey of writing a book is wrapped up and waiting for me under the tree this year.  And yet, I am making an effort to experience and live everyday of the paper chain that is this beautiful season.  The end of the paper chain will be here before you know it.  What is at the end of your paper chain?  And more importantly, what should be cherished in the small loops of red and green somewhere in the middle?

Merry Christmas!

Do you know the people in your head?

This Christmas I decided to make bourbon balls for my friends overseas.  I think bourbon balls are a quintessential southern holiday treat, not to mention decadent enough to be considered a worthy gift to ship worldwide.  Since I just had to buy a bottle of Makers Mark as a key ingredient, my husband and I decided to tap that bottle Wednesday night and indulge in a little late night toddy.  As I sat there sipping my Makers & Coke and ruminating over the events of the day, it struck me: This is something Sawyer does.

(Sawyer is the hero in Book 2 of my series.  I’ll get to his book if I can ever finish Cian’s book - Book 1!)

 Anyway, I sat there thinking of Sawyer and what he’d do after a long night of hunting down dark druids and battling baddies that practice the occult for their own nefarious gains.  (Why yes, it is a paranormal series. Thanks for asking.)  He’d kick his feet up in his worn out leather recliner and sip on a Makers and Coke - heavy on the Makers, easy on the Coke – while channel surfing.  He’d finally land on E! and watch Keeping up with the Kardashians without a hint of shame or remorse.  At one particularly unrealistic reality moment, he’d yell at Cian to “Get in here and take a look at this!” 

Cian would be in the garage, blowing off steam by pounding his fists into a punching bag.  He’d have no interest in Kim, Khloe, or Kourtney and probably tell Sawyer to “Fek off.”  Of course Sawyer would ignore those instructions completely, go over and stand in the doorway between the kitchen and the garage, and give Cian a detailed play by play of what he’d just seen.  For his part, Cian would try his hardest not to let his punches slip and fly all the way across the garage, accidentally hitting Sawyer square in the jaw.  That’s his roommate after all, his fellow Fianna, and his friend.  Sawyer is only trying to lighten the mood. He knows how hard it is for Cian to come down after a night of work.

You see, Sawyer can spend the whole day intensely focused on his work and simply switch it off at a snap of the fingers.  Cian, on the other hand, carries the burden of what they do with him everywhere.  There is no switching it off.  There is no “don’t worry” in his vocabulary.  The only way he can relax enough to sleep is to wear himself out on the bag or drink himself into a stupor.  Since he owns a bar as his cover job and his temper is highly flammable as is, he knows he better not start down that whole drinking road.  Cian would never indulge in Makers Mark.

And these are the thoughts that run through my mind as I enjoy my Makers Mark.  So when my husband asked me “What are you thinking?” My response was, “Do you really want to know?  Because you could be listening for awhile.”

I love thinking about my characters; how they react to things, what they do on a regular basis.  What do they like to eat and drink?  What kind of car do they drive?  Are they techno savvy or a luddite?  Do the heroines like lipstick, lip gloss, or nothing?   Do the heroes wear boxers or briefs?  These are all things that may or may not ever make it into their story, but I want to know.  I need to know!

My favorite part of writing (and reading for that matter) is getting to know the characters.  I dream about my characters and all their little nuances before I ever start writing their story.  What about you?  How do you get to know the people in your head? Do they come to you fully formed or is there a method to meeting them?

Giant Slices of Cake

It all began over the biggest slice of coconut cake I’ve ever seen.  When the waitress sat it down on the table in front of me I actually caught my breath.  Three layers of moist yellow cake were all covered in fluffy white icing with slivers of coconut lying on top as if a piece of lace had been draped over its surface.  I briefly wondered how many cakes they must have in the kitchen in order to give me roughly a quarter of a cake and still have enough desserts for the entire Christmas Party.  There must be cakes on every surface back there.  Cakes were surely stacked up to the ceiling in teetering piles waiting to spill on some unwitting cook, covering him with carrot cake or possibly chocolate cheesecake.   I shook off the thought and forced my head back into the conversation with the two writer friends nearest me at the table.  I am a member of Carolina Romance Writers and every December we get together not to take notes on a lecture or hash out plot problems but to enjoy everyone’s successes of the year, talk, exchange gifts, and eat giant slices of cake. 

So, it was over this giant slice of cake that my friend Ann gave me a great idea.  She had read and liked one of my recent blog posts, and told me that if I made it a little longer, I could sell it as an Erotica short.  Now, apparently this will only make me about $20 over the course of a year, but I could say I have been published in e book when talking to agents and publishers.  I blinked in surprise.  Me?   Write Erotica?  I’m just a simple girl that writes Historical Romance.  I couldn’t believe I was considering this, but there isn’t much I wouldn’t do to get my first manuscript published. 

The conversation moved on to “Going to Nationals,” or the Romance Writers of America 31^st Annual Conference in New York this summer.  I would love to go to Nationals!  I’ve heard that you can meet agents and publishers there to pitch your book!  Again, my friend Ann, (can you tell she’s getting me into trouble?) suggests that there is an essay contest online in which the winner gets a scholarship to get into the $525 cover charge conference for free.  The afternoon continued on and I finally left, venturing out in the sleet and snow outside.  That was when the accumulating thoughts and schemes began to swirl in my head like the snow that was hitting my windshield.  By the time I got home, I had latched onto the idea that I could use money that I make writing to pay for my trip to New York to go to Nationals.  So, in true OCD fashion this is what I came up with:

I need $1800 to cover the flight, 3 nights of hotel stay, and the conference fee.

Step 1: I could win the essay contest to get into the conference for free.  So, now I only need $1275.

Step 2: I could write enough Erotica stories to add up to $1275….ok… I just out my calculator and that’s 63.75 short stories. 

Much Revised Step 2:   

I could get a part time job in the only hours I don’t currently work- 1 AM to 7 AM.

I could gather a band of young girls to sell boxes of cookies door to door, oh wait that’s already taken.

I could have a car wash fundraiser, only I don’t have any help, and it’s also December and below freezing outside.

I could cash in my piggy bank….12 times, wow that would be a lot of change.

I could stand with a tin cup and a sign on a street corner.

I’m not sure what I will have to do, but I will get there.  Dreams are worth fighting for, worth saving for, worth hitchhiking to New York for them to come true.  What dreams are worth the risk in your life?

A Writer's Thanksgivings

I am immensely thankful for all the things people normally think of:  my family, friends, faith, health, home, and job.  I’m sure I’m forgetting something (because I usually do), but those are the biggies that I give thanks for every day.  However, this Thanksgiving I am also thankful for things most “normal” people don’t consider.   By normal I mean people that aren’t writers … not that writers aren’t normal.   Okay, mostly normal.

I am thankful for the people, taking up residence in my head, who talk to me on a daily basis.  I am never bored and rarely lonely because they always have something to say and are eager to say it. 

I’m glad I get to experience all these budding romantic relationships, first hand, even though they don’t include me.  It’s like the ultimate fly-on-the-wall scenario.

I appreciate that I can gain insight into my life from the mistakes of fictitious people without having to go through all the angst and drama that they do.

I’m thankful (and, I admit, a little proud) that I know things like how to spell a lot, of course, and separate, and I know when to use you’re or your, they’re or their, and it’s or its. I do stumble over grammar more than a lot of writers, but not nearly as much as the average person.

Most importantly, I am grateful for all of the friendships I’ve made with other writers.  Be they online and abroad or in my local writing chapter, I’ve met some amazing people that have forever influenced the way I see writing and the world.

What are you thankful for this year?

Happy Thanksgiving, y’all,

Heather

Tiny Slips of Paper

“Hang on, my checkbook must be in here somewhere,” I told the thickly accented lady on the phone as I dug with one hand through an accumulation of tiny slips of paper.  It never ceases to amaze me how quickly I am able to collect the debris of life inside my purse or how long I am willing to carry it around with me everywhere I go.  When I hung up the phone, I weighed my bag in my hand and became aware of how heavy it had become. 

“That’s it!  I can’t take it anymore,” I told my two year old as he popped another grape in his mouth, perched on a barstool at the kitchen island. 

“That’s it,” he repeated, laughing. 

As I dug into my cleaning project I pulled out handfuls of receipts, grocery lists, to do lists, coupons, business cards, bills, prescriptions, and advertisements, then piled them all on the counter before me.  It was then that I realized, my life could be summed up by these tiny slips of paper.  Where I’ve been, what I’ve bought, what I need to do, what I worry about, it was all there in print in a crumpled pile of paper.   

Which leads me to my question of the day:  Are we living our lives in large murals or on tiny slips of paper?

Life gets distracting, or should I say the necessary paying of bills, going to doctor appointments, going to the grocery store, taking the kids to school, and getting work done part of life gets distracting.  And, it is all too easy to get caught up in the day to day minutia of life and forget to live.  I think life should be about family and friends, sunshine on your face and wind in your hair, laughter and silliness, and enjoying the beauty of the world around us.  As I put away all of life’s litter and prepared my purse to receive more tomorrow, I made a vow to live in large murals.  I will never get back this afternoon I spent with my little boy building towers and eating cookies, for this afternoon only happens once.  I will give my family hugs and tell them how much I love them.  I will make time to go for a walk.  I will call an old friend and laugh at something she says.  I will take a chance and be scared over the outcome.  I will go to a party where I don’t know anyone and have the time of my life.  I will try a new hobby, a new food, and a new style of shoes.  I will finish writing my manuscript!

We only have this one chance to live today to the fullest.  Don’t cheat yourself out of the good stuff in life by living your life within the confines of your tiny slips of paper.  What are your large murals?

How do I get back into writer-shape?

The month of October was a bust for me - writing wise.  I normally write in the afternoons and weekends, but last month it wasn’t happening.  At first, it was because I was so busy with work, family, and a sick child that I couldn’t squeeze in a spare moment anywhere.  Then, I admit, it was pure, unadulterated laziness.  I had the time, but not the desire.  Any free time was spent watching television, reading, or zoning out on the internet.  I couldn’t make myself commune with my characters.  Quite simply, I was burned out.  Real life and fiction life had gotten the best of me and I needed a break.  So, I took it.

As you might guess, the hard part isn’t taking the break; it’s coming off the break.  Looking back, I’d liken it to getting off your workout routine.  If you’ve sat around on the couch for a month, the idea of jumping back into half an hour of aerobics and half an hour of weight training every day is enough to keep your bum forever glued to the sofa.  When I thought about writing 2,000 words in a day, the task was too daunting.  Where would I find the time?  How could I make that many words come in the short time I have to write?

Instead, I scrapped all goals except for one.  “Write a little something today,” I told myself.  Or as Elizabeth said, “Just tell the story.”  Like going for a stroll in my neighborhood, I decided I’d get out and stretch my writing legs.  I ended up writing about 400 words that day.  The next day my goal was the same and I finished at just over 700 words.  Within the week, I was back on course with a daily average of 800-1000 words.  The take away?

1)       Avoid taking a month off from writing OR working out. J  It’s too long to be away from the habit.  Half the battle of working on a WIP is getting your cheeks in the seat and putting your fingers to the keys.  You’re better off writing some schwill that you can edit later than staring at a blank page.

2)      If something happens and you do wind up staying away too long, ease back into it.  For a lot of us newbies, the idea of 10,000 words in a week is overwhelming.  Focus on telling the story and honing your craft, and then the words will come.  

Besides, once you find a publisher, those hard and fast goals will come soon enough!

What are your writing habits?  Do you have a specific time of day, days of the week, or writing spot?  How do you get back into the habit if you’ve taken an extended break?

(picture by Henry Clive)

Invest In Thicker Curtains

My house sits on a quiet cul-de-sac in a neighborhood where the trees are still young and children are everywhere.  Because there are so many families here, we get hundreds of trick-or-treaters every October 31^st.  Last year we didn’t even have time to come inside between groups of children, and ended up leaning against the car with a giant bowl of candy.  So, this year I turned our problem into a party and hosted the first annual Halloween tailgate in my driveway.  We pulled out tables and chairs and I spent most of the day cooking and baking and baking and cooking.  It was shaping up to be an entertaining evening with the neighbors.  But I had no idea at the time just how entertaining it would become.

“Daddy went to the store to buy us fire,” my little 2 year old said, as he popped another piece of candy in his mouth.

Mr. Alpha Male had actually gone up to the Lowes with our next door neighbor to buy a fire pit because we were all freezing.  But, he got it right enough for a 2 year old, so I agreed.  And, soon the men were back from their manly errand, the fire pit was set up, and we were warming our fingers and toes, while the scent of wood smoke filled the cool night air.  It was the middle of the third bottle of wine and well after the children had collectively crashed from their sugar rushes and been tucked into bed.  Baby monitors and wine bottles covered the nearby table as the parents took a break at the end of a long day.  I had just taken a bite of warm buffalo chicken dip and was crunching the last of the chip left in my hand when I happened to look up and see something through the window of the house just around the bend from ours.  I took another sip of wine and wondered if I had already had too much and my imagination was running away with me.  The conversation and laughter continued to swirl around me, but I wasn’t listening to it anymore.  I had just seen my most prudish of neighbors, the ones that hardly ever leave the church and never socialize with the rest of us heathens, in the middle of a sexual act.  What sexual act?  Details, give us details, you may be screaming at your computer screen right now.  Well, since you asked…

The thin film of the living room window sheers hid nothing as she took him fully in her mouth; the silhouette of her head sliding up and down his shaft, as she moved with slow deliberate action.  He tensed then reached for her, clearly needing to feel connected to her, to the moment.  The living room light behind them illuminated their every movement as he ran his hands through her long hair, gripping, pulling.  Her pace increased and so did the size of my eyes; I elbowed my next door neighbor and quickly all conversation around the fire pit died as everyone turned and watched.  They readjusted their position and she straddled him.  His hands skimmed the outsides of her breasts as he ran them down to hold her waist and guide her into a wild rhythm of heart beats.  It was the rhythm of passion, the rhythm of sin.  They clung to one another as they reached for that peak just out of grasp.  She arched her back as he thrust into her once, twice, then she collapsed on him in a tangle of spent lust and satisfaction.  They left the room together and their house grew dark for the night.  

“Do you think he’ll come outside for a cigarette,” Mr. Alpha Male asked me.  Our Halloween tailgate party continued on into the early morning, but the evening’s unexpected entertainment was obviously over. 

Will I ever be able to say hello to my neighbor with a straight face again? 

Boo! Did I scare ya?!!

For years I loved a good horror movie and scary novel.  Okay, true confessions?  I was a bit of a junky. In my teens and twenties, I watched everything from the slasher films like Halloween, Texas Chainsaw Massacre, and Friday the 13^th to the ghost and demon filled movies like Amityville Horror, Rosemary’s Baby and The Omen.  I read everything by Stephen King and Dean Koontz, and I loved the crime novels of Patricia Cornwell.  When my college drama professor asked our class why we liked horror and thrillers, I had the oh so clever and insightful answer of, “I like to be scared.”  Dumbed down though it may sound, it was the truth.  At that time, I really enjoyed being scared out of my mind. 

My how times have changed!

I don’t know exactly when it happened (though I have a pretty good idea of why), but sometime around my thirtieth birthday, I lost my taste for the scary.  I couldn’t sit through the rental of Wolf Creek.  I literally had to leave the room.  I spent the last hour of that movie in my friend’s kitchen, reading the latest issue of People magazine.  I didn’t even bother entertaining the notion of going to see Saw II, The Hills Have Eyes, Last House on the Left, or any remakes or new editions with Freddie and/or Jason.  I could no longer read a thriller without having to sleep with the lights on or putting the book in the freezer like Joey on Friends.

You see, sometime around my third decade I realized that bad stuff really does happen.  All the time!  People really do get stalked and murdered and tortured.  It all became very real to me and suddenly, it really scared me.  I realized I wasn’t scared before, merely entertained.  NOW it’s scary and I don’t like to be scared!  Maybe it makes me an old fuddy duddy, but I’d rather watch comedies and romances.  When I want a thrill, I watch spy and action films. 

My attraction to the things that go bump in the night didn’t die completely though.  I do still like a good ghost story or movie this time of year.  They’re rarely graphic and they let me use my imagination.  Plus, I feel less threatened by the specter in the attic than the crazy man in the basement.

 Some of my all time scary favorites:

The Exorcist – the ultimate and a classic!

Amityville Horror

Poltergeist –TV static can be very unnerving.

The Shining – The book is just as scary (if not more so) as the movie!

How about you?  Do you like a good scary movie near Halloween or do you avoid them? What are some of your faves?

Evil Men Never Wear Black Hats

You may think I live on the pages of a book where you can shut me into darkness.  Or, do you think I live on the movie screen where you can simply close your eyes and I will disappear?  No.  Villains are everywhere. You may think you are safe from us in real life, but that is where we thrive, we villains, as we feed on the goodness and hard work of those around us.  Slowly slipping, sneaking, some might say into your life.  At work you do business with me and are forced to endure my torture every day.  Yet, I wear no black hat to signify where my loyalties lie.  At friendly social gatherings, I lurk in the crowd waiting for the chance to carry out my evil plot.  Yet, I have no sinister laugh to signal those that I meet to tell them who I am.  When I finally find you, caught off guard, in a dark alley, with no one to hear your screams, I will not stop to explain my motivation in killing you.  With a flick of this blade you’ll be dead.  Can you feel it? The cold steel of the knife is pressed against your throat, and you thought I was fiction. 

In real life I have freedom.  I look like your friend, the one that smiles to your face just before you feel the blade piercing into your back.  I’m your co-worker that takes credit for your work and spreads rumors about you while you’re at home sick.  I sued you for thousands of dollars you didn’t have, just to line my pockets with your money.  When you came to me with a problem I took advantage of you. I could pay you what I owe you, but I want to vacation instead.  I bullied your child and there was nothing you could do about it.   And then, I lured your loved one away from you to steal a small sliver of your happiness.  But, you’re not happy now are you?  And the best part is you never saw it coming.  You never saw the trap I set for you.  You never saw it, because I look like you, I look like me.  Can you feel life slip from your grasp as I tell you what I’ve done?  Can you taste the thick metallic feel of blood in your mouth?  You trusted me and now you’re dead. 

Happy Halloween!

My hero, The Antihero

When it comes to men, I definitely have a “type.”  I don’t like men that are too pretty.  I like them ruggedly handsome and flawed in just such a way that makes them perfect in my eyes.  This has been true ever since I had my first crush.  All of my friends would fall for the cute boy with sparkling blue eyes and perfect teeth.  I would hold a secret crush for his dark eyed friend that was either a) rough around the edges, b) a prankster, c) always in trouble for disrupting class, d) had a few scars from sports and/or fighting, e) all of the above.

The same is true for my taste in fictional heroes.  From the first moment Han Solo stepped onto the screen in Star Wars, I adored him.  The snarky attitude, the trouble with authority, the dusty clothing, that scar!  He had his own set of rules for life, but when it came to honor and loyalty, you’d want this smuggler on your side.  My affection for the antihero continues to this day and crosses all entertainment mediums.  Comic books?  I’d take Wolverine over Cyclops any day and twice on Sundays.  Romance novels?  When it comes to historicals, my favorite hero is always the rake reformed or the working class, self made man with a chip on his shoulder.  In contemporaries, I lean toward the cynical cop that doesn’t play by the rules.  With paranormals, I’m a sucker for the over the top alpha vampire that has little regard for what society thinks.  You can have your guilt ridden, broody vamps.  I like mine unapologetic.

I’m sure you see the pattern here.  So it’d only make sense for me to write my heroes this way, right?  Well … not exactly.

While I do have a tendency toward the antihero, my muse is an inclusive lover of all male archetypes.  The hero of my WIP fits the antihero mold, but on my brain’s To Be Written shelf is one hero who defines the term.  He is upstanding, charming, honorable, and polite.  He even has blonde hair and blue eyes.   I never intended to write a hero like him, but the muse had other plans.  Turns out, still waters really do run deep and now that I've sketched him out, I adore him just as much as the others.

So what do you like in a hero?  Who is on your list of favorites?  Do you see a pattern in your affections?  Have you ever broken with your type tradition?

The Love List, An Ode to Mr. Alpha Male

I love to crawl into the warm Him shaped indention in the sheets in the early morning after he leaves for work.  That last 20 minutes is the best sleep I get all night.

I love it when he inserts my name into songs while he sings along with the radio in the car, off key and loud.  It makes me smile.

I love to listen to him read to our son at night, patiently reading the same Curious George story over and over and over.

I love that the first time he told me he loved me was by accident at the end of a phone call; and he still ends every phone call that way.

I love that we’ve broken each other’s hearts into a million pieces and mended them back again, stronger than before.

I love that he orders for me when we eat out, not because he’s controlling, but because he knows me that well.

I love that he does dirty, ugly things every day that he doesn’t want to do; but he does them anyway for the survival of our family.

I love it when he bakes bread in the middle of the night because he felt like eating some bread; and brings me some bread because he thought I might like eating some bread too.

I love that he dreams with me and supports me in my dreams, no matter how crazy they may sound.

I love to be held in his powerful arms, it makes me feel small, and fragile, and stronger than I am alone.

I love that he always offers to say the blessing before a nice meal, and he taught our son to say “Amen.”

I love it when he plays with my hair when I can’t sleep, while I talk nonstop and he pretends to listen.

I love to watch him chop fire wood, sweat glistening off thick muscles, wood splintering into the air, sunlight glinting off the smooth steel of the ax, all while I sip lemonade in the shade.

I love that he obsessively irons his clothes, even when on vacation.  It makes me laugh at my wrinkles.

I love to listen to him talk eloquently and passionately about zombies and politics and society and plans for our back yard makeover.  It reminds me of how intelligent and completely insane he is.

I love that we have entire conversations in movie quotes, and we know exactly what we’re saying.

I love that he took me rock climbing on our first date, even though I barely remember the rock we were climbing, that day will be burned into my memory for the rest of my life.

I love the beautifully ugly cake he baked me for my birthday.  The words on top looked like a child wrote them and I could taste the love he poured into it in every delicious bite.

I love that he never lets me say, “I can’t.”  And when I do, he gives me his half-time pep talk that always involves digging deeper for a larger set of balls, guts and glory. 

And, I love the beautiful future we’re going to have together when we finally run away from all responsibility, live in a thatched roof cottage, and become sheep herders.

Here I Go Again On My Oww-ow-own

If I sat around, always waiting on inspiration to strike, I would probably write once a week.  Tops.  Sure, I have an outline for my WIP.  Scene summaries.  Character sketches.  That doesn’t mean I can actually write the next scene.  As athletes call it, I have to be in “the zone” to write good fiction.  I get there through music. 

I have written entire scenes that came to me just because of a song.  If I’m at a loss or if my characters go quiet on me, I listen to songs that fit the scene or suit their personalities and, suddenly, I’m right back on track. I’m sure I’m not alone with my music loving muse.   Creativity lends itself to more creativity and music, for lack of a better phrase, really does it for me. 

To keep things simple, I’ve created character channels on Pandora (the free internet radio site).  I have one for the hero of my WIP, one for the heroine, and one for the overall feel of the story.  My hero, Cian, is Irish and a bit broody at times.  He lends himself to some Coldplay, old school U2, and a plethora of European rock.  He also has a tough outer shell with lots of rough edges, so there’s plenty of Disturbed and Breaking Benjamin in his mix.  My heroine, Hannah, is a sweet, southern, girl next door type.  She’s naïve and she’s been easily manipulated and hurt in the past, but she’s on a journey toward self discovery and inner strength.  Her channel has a lot of female lead bands and solo artists; plenty of Flyleaf, a little Paramore, even some Joan Jett to stiffen her spine.

What ‘s really interesting is when Pandora throws out the random, unselected, addition (which Pandora is known to do) that doesn’t fit with the channel or character at all.  I have been happily going along; rocking with Cian to some angry, alternative rock, when up pops Whitesnake and the 80’s hair anthem “Here I Go Again.”  Cian looked around with his “WTF?” face.  He is not an 80’s hair band type.

Now the hero of my next WIP, Sawyer, would’ve totally been in his element.  In fact, upon hearing the music, his voice perked right up.  “Bring on the ballads and the anthems of the 70s and 80s already,” he told me.  “No one wants to listen to that emo [crap] that Cian likes.  Give us something, anything, from AC/DC to Whitesnake … or any band you can think of ending with Z.  I wanna rock! And I want my turn as lead.”

Did I mention Sawyer can be a little overbearing at times?

The music feeds my muse.  What inspires you?

Are You My Friend?

Have you ever sat down in your only free 5 minutes in the day, logged into facebook only to have the stark realization that you have no idea who any of your “friends” are?  I’m to the point now that I know their names, their dog’s names, and what they cooked for supper tonight.  I celebrated with them when they got that job they’ve been wanting, and smiled at pictures of their children; yet I have no memory of ever meeting these people in my life.  Was it an acquaintance from high school or perhaps I sat beside them at some meeting I went to 3 years ago?  Who knows, but here’s the strange part; in some odd way I feel connected to these people, intertwined in their lives, engrossed in their dramas.  In some ways I’m closer to them than any real life friend I see occasionally or wave to as I drive through my neighborhood. 

Which leads me to my question of the day: has the internet brought back the idea of the pen pal?

Every day I sit down with my laptop on the sofa, my two year old driving trucks up and down my legs, Super Why with the power to read playing in the background on the tv, and I check my email.  I tell myself that this is one of my responsibilities as a small business owner, staying on top of all correspondence.  But, in reality, I have a friend that I email every day about anything and everything.  There have been really hard days when that email message was the only ray of sunshine in my dark and stormy life.  We talk about the men in our lives, her dating madness, and my crazy Mr. Alpha Male husband.  We talk about our dreams and deepest desires for the future, our children and the joys and struggles involved with them.  And, because we are forced to put what we are thinking and feeling into black Calibri type face and fill a screen with it, we say more than we would on the phone or, if we lived closer, over a glass of wine.  I cherish those few minutes every day when I get a new message and have a brief glimpse into her daily life.  And, in essence isn’t that what having a pen pal is like?

It seems like everyone has a blog these days, cathartically purging themselves of all of their innermost struggles into print and sending it out online.  And, now I have a blog where I write my personal thoughts on life and put them out in the world for everyone to see and examine.  Do we have that same level of openness and honesty with friends that we see in person regularly?   There was a time when people were friends in real life; and now it seems like all friendships stay firmly planted in cyber space, while we lock our doors and close our blinds to the outside world.  Which leaves me wondering both in real life and online, “Are you my friend?”

Express Yourself ... or not.

One of those lists that go viral around the internet hit my Facebook page last night.  This time it actually interested me.  It’s the “Top 20 Reasons Writers Make Great Lovers” list.  It wasn’t the list that captured my attention though.  It was the snarky commentary that an actual writer wrote back in response.  I really did LOL a few times.  The response to #9 made me think (as well as giggle):

9. Writers can think through their feelings.  So don’t start an argument unless you’re ready for a very, very lengthy explanation of our position, our feelings about your position, and what scenes from our recent fiction the whole thing reminds us of.

For me, this is so true.  I have no problem examining or expressing my feelings.  I probably express myself a little too well and too often.  Most of the writers I know are the same.  I keep hearing about these introverted writers, but I’ve yet to meet one.  Maybe it’s my genre, but every writer I meet is more than willing to share his or her life story, current WIP, past failures and triumphs, tips for success, etc. etc. etc.  We love words and it would seem we like to speak them as well as write them.

Our characters, however, usually have a heck of time expressing their feelings.  It’s sort of a “must have” in a romance.  We couldn’t have a hero that was immediately in touch with his emotions and his longing for the heroine.  He can’t think only of her, regardless of how it might affect his job/family/fortune/title.  If he were so self aware, he’d have the whole book sewn up by chapter five.  Same goes for our heroine.  If she could quickly admit that she really did want to know more about the roguish duke no matter what her family thought, she’d march right up to him at the ball/party/park/dinner and express that feeling.  The End would probably come after only one or two meetings.

This wouldn’t do!  We like the unspoken words.  We love the longing glances and touches laden with meaning.  We live for all the unresolved sexual tension.  For romance writers, while we may be able to think through it and tell you exactly how we feel on pretty much any person, place, or object you offer up, we are NOT going let our characters do the same.

Bringing Home the Bacon Bits

I was asked today what I do for a living, and I found myself floundering for a moment not knowing which job title to give. A year ago I would have replied, ”Stay-at-home Mom,” without blinking an eye. But sometime in the past year, I became an owner of a construction company, an interior designer, and an aspiring writer, all on top of my career as a stay-at-home mom. My brief blunder caused me to step back and take note of all of the women I know that are working two and three jobs while raising children. The more faces that crossed my mind, the more I realized that everyone I know moonlights on their job as a stay-at-home mom these days. On-line business owners, tutors, aerobics instructors, seamstresses, and waitresses, all fighting for the survival of their families in a time filled with slim profits, coupons, and dwindling bank accounts.

Then, I began to think of all of the success stories that have happened in the face of adversity. They surround me every day. The small victories of purchasing back to school clothes for the kids, or simply keeping the bills paid for another month, small victories that keep families clean, fed, safe, and together. When the storms of life are swirling around us and fighting for survival is the only goal, it’s difficult to stop working long enough to look around and appreciate all that hard work. So, I would like to take this opportunity to applaud my fellow moonlighting stay-at-home moms for their perseverance in holding life together while life seems to tear itself apart at every opportunity. Even as I’m writing this, I’m waiting for water to boil on the stove for supper, kicking a soccer ball back and forth across the kitchen floor with my little boy, paused once to answer the business line, and now I’m looking around my normally clean house at paperwork piling up on table tops and the accumulating dust bunnies in the corners. So, what’s a girl to do? When does a working stay-at-home mom get the 5 minutes necessary to sit down and congratulate herself on a job well done? I’m declaring the time is now! I challenge all of you amazingly strong women out there to celebrate in some small way today. I will be celebrating today with a new shade of lipstick and some stolen writing time on my front porch!

We moms need to remember that we are worth being taken care of too. And, while my contribution to the household may be more like bringing home the bacon bits, than bringing home the bacon, we’re happy to have those delicious salad toppings every night at supper time! So, be proud of your many job titles! Brag with pride about your list of official and unofficial job titles, and celebrate everyday with every success.

GMC IRL

As writers, we hear so much about the goals, motivations, and conflicts of our characters. It’s such a frequently used phrase that we’ve condensed it down to the acronym, GMC. “What’s the hero’s GMC? My heroine’s GMC isn’t straightforward enough.” There are entire reference books dedicated to GMC.


My question is, what about GMC In Real Life?

Because I can tell you, more often than not, “real life” is almost always at Conflict with my writing Goal and Motivation. Simply put, my Goal is to be published. My Motivation is the love of writing and a desire to entertain people and capture their imagination. My Conflict is pretty much everything else in my life.

You name it. Job. Family. Friends. Responsibility. Exercise. Yard Work. Grocery Shopping. The list goes on and on. We all have our list and, unlike in our novels, this is the one place we don’t want conflict. So what do we do? Well, we face the reality that we may never get hours of quiet time in some remote location, with a cup of coffee (or other beverage of your choice), a computer, and a brain free of distraction. We carve out whatever time we can, five minutes here, an hour there, and we write. Don’t worry about how little time you have, just write what you can until the next conflict arises.

How do I do it?

I used to get up early and write while everyone else was asleep (I’ve heard of many a successful writer doing this), but now I have to have myself and my little guy (who we’ll call SJ here) up and out the door by 7:45am. I also have to squeeze in a work out or some Zumba before 6:45am, so the morning is shot. I can’t write late at night because my brain after 9pm is 99% ready for sleep, 1% able to remember the words “brush” and “teeth”. For weeks I made no progress until I finally decided I was going to write and that time would just have to be found. I set a weekly goal of 5,000 words and I began writing in small bursts. It worked! Now, during my lunch hour at work, I write. During nap times on the weekends, I write. On Friday afternoons, after 4pm, when everything has slowed to turtle’s crawl at work, I write (Shh, don’t tell). If SJ goes to bed early and the Dear Husband is working out, I write! I sneak in my writing time like a dieting woman sneaks chocolate.

The other day I knew I’d have no time, but the DH started feeding SJ dinner, so I whipped out my lap top with plans to tap away on some dialogue stuck in my head. I ended up writing over 600 words. Nothing huge, but it’s still progress. Yesterday it was 1,000 words on my lunch hour.

It can be done. I’m getting closer to my Goal because I finally stopped focusing on my Conflict. How do you reach your goals?

A Muffin Too Far

As my little boy walked through the kitchen with his new airplane embroidered backpack strapped to his shoulders over his Thomas the Tank Engine jammies, his little face still sticky with this morning’s breakfast, all work on my manuscript came to a screeching halt. This is one of the dangers and great joys of running the house, a construction company, and a budding writing career all from my small oak desk in the corner of my kitchen. Constant interruptions that I would not eliminate even if I could, crash through my thoughts mid-sentence of an intense scene I’m writing. But, isn’t that the life of every woman, every mom, trying to hold the loose ends of life together before they unravel and leave us with a heap of tangled threads at our feet?


“Mommy, I’m going to school,” my little boy beamed holding out his airplane lunch bag, not understanding that he doesn’t start preschool for another week.

I’ve spent the past two weeks obsessed with learning all that I can, not about daily life in the late 1700’s as would help in the writing of my historical romance manuscript, but the artistic creation of bento box lunches for preschoolers. In my effort to keep the wheels on all of my works in process, writing and otherwise, I have once again gone overboard in my quest for perfection. Little peanut butter sandwiches cut into the shape of cars, tuna salad rolls made to look like mice, cheese in the shape of the three little pigs, all intricately carved and packed into the matching lunch bag with his name embroidered in the top. Which brings me to my question of the day: Will my need to be a great mom overshadow my son’s need to be a normal boy. In other words, will the elaborate school lunches I’m planning be a muffin too far?

The great lunch debacle of 2010 has been the topic of conversation at my house this week. My husband, who for the purposes of this blog I will just call Mr. Alpha Male, thinks that I am going to get our little boy beat up at preschool with my over prepared lunches and matching airplane themed school accessories. I think that I want my perfect little angel to have the best of everything, including his lunch. Then again, does Mr. Alpha Male have a point? (Now, now ladies, don’t be dirty.) Bunny sandwiches are not exactly manly, after all. And furthermore, would my current work in progress be finished by now if I spent more time with my mind in the late 1700’s and less of it on the perfect blueberry muffin recipe to put into the perfect airplane themed cupcake wrapper and into the perfect airplane lunch bag?