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Posts Tagged ‘distractions’

So Crazed

This morning, I have:

– Written two freelance articles for publication
– Done an in depth analysis of user trends on a product
– Completely forgotten about the report I write every Monday before my kid wakes up, and I can hear him waking up now

What I have not done this morning:

– Put any words into at least one WIP. I try to do 250 words every morning. My real writing time is in the evening, but getting one manuscript page complete each morning sets such a good tone for the rest of the day.

What I wish I was doing:

– Reading the copy of Gwenhwyfar I got for Mother’s Day.

I’m only a chapter in, and already I’m so excited. I cut my fantasy teeth on Valdemar, and loved it more than anything, and I know I’m not the only reader who started feeling a bit… disappointed. Like the well had run dry and someone was still making Mercedes Lackey throw down the bucket. Her “romance” series for Luna made me feel a lot better, because they were great reads. Still, there was sometimes a sense of automatic pilot. But this Arthurian book is the good stuff, the vintage Lackey but now with all of the craft and power an author with years of practice can command.

I used the word romance in quotes there because it’s a freaking fantasy series, but it was branded as a romance, which irritated… huh. There’s a whole pile of assumptions to be examined right there. I’ll get to that one of these days when I’m not so crazed.

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The Idea Fountain

I used to sit around and complain that gosh darn it, I’m a good writer, I could write books if only I had ideas. Then I would read books and interviews with authors, and see them say stuff like “the idea is the easy part.” One of them even said that her pet peeve was people writing in to say “I had this idea. Write the book and we’ll share the profit!” Now, while sharing the profit seemed silly, the concept of the idea being worthless seemed somehow unfair. And the idea wasn’t the easy part. My ideas all made for interesting first paragraphs and painted themselves into corners (or turned out to be complete ripoffs of whatever fantasy series I was reading at the time).

Now that I have actually finished manuscripts, I’d like to travel back in time and just whack myself over my silly, clueless little head. I wasn’t a writer. I was an idiot with a fairly decent grasp on the mechanics of writing. A brain used to writing breeds ideas.  The first idea I had for a story that actually came with a middle and an ending wasn’t bad, but while I was in the middle of the writing, I had another idea. I opened a text file and pinned down that wild idea like a rat in a trap on the spot because I thought I’d never have another idea again. As soon as I finished the first story, I started writing the second. While I was writing the second, I came up with a handful of new ideas. While I was writing the third, I came up with a dozen ideas, two of which were so exciting that I abandoned the work in progress and started writing them instead.

The problem now is discipline. Put the ideas into the text file, and finish something. (Robert Heinlein again – you must finish what you write!) I’ve got enough ideas in the idea file to keep writing for the next ten years at my current pace, but the new ideas won’t stop coming. I haven’t yet had any ideas like wizard boarding school or angsty emo high school vampires, but who knows what’ll pop out of the fountain spout next.

Stuck In My Head

When I’m putting my toddler to bed, I use the time to think about my stories. Basically, it takes close to an hour, the room is dark, I can’t read or take notes… so I think things through and then race to the computer to type it all out as soon as he’s asleep.

The last three nights, I’ve had a particular image stuck in my head. There’s a man in his forties. He’s hiding a briefcase in an old house. Then he writes a note. The scene cuts to a nice house in a different neighborhood. Kids playing in the yard. Two police office come up. The lady of the house answers, covers her mouth in horror at what she hears. Cut scene to the first house. She’s cleaning things up, throwing out most of what she finds. She finds the briefcase. Inside is a whole hell of a lot of money.

Since I am working on an erotic steampunk, and I don’t write thrillers, you can see why this mental image isn’t doing me any good. I hope writing it down here will be like it is with song lyrics, whereby sharing it will get it stuck in someone else’s head.

Self-Employment Downside:

No sick days.

If I don’t work, I don’t eat. Maybe not today, but on a future day where the crops sown today are harvested, there will be no harvest unless I get the seeds in the ground, the words on the page, and the websites updated.

Meanwhile, I want to go back to bed and have someone bring me juice with a bendy straw. I’m tempted to take the laptop to my bed and work there, but the sick kid is in that bed, and he’s not so sick that he wouldn’t want to touch the magic! buttons! All of them. Particularly the off button right when I’m in the middle of a hot idea.

Anyway, 1600 more words and I can go lie down. Today’s protip is “wash your hands after touching your friend’s boogery baby.”

Top Searches People Use To Find This Blog

“carina press”, hummus, kathleen dienne, ipad bookstore apps, erotic fiction, bdsm during childbirth

I was very pleased to see my own name, my publisher, my category, and at least something relating to bookstore apps.

Hummus gave me a smile.

But BDSM during childbirth? What? Who the hell even comes up with that search string? (Dear Person Who Came Up With That: Sorry to disappoint you, by the way.)

I have giving birth to a child. No epidural. No, I would probably not do that again, but that’s another blog entirely. My point is that I cannot imagine wanting more pain at that particular moment in time. For that matter, I can’t figure out how you’d pay any attention to your sex life when you are busy, in the words of some comic I cannot remember, trying to push a wet St. Bernard out through a cat door.

But I do have a mental image of my midwife, the L&D nurse, my doula, and my husband all wearing gimp masks. And the nurse flicking a whip yelling “Push harder! Harder, dammit!”

Categories: Thinking Tags:

So Close.

February 11, 2010 Leave a comment

Like most of us, I have a family. I love my family. Lights of my life and all that. But jeez louise, people. The hero just busted down the door to save the heroine from the gun-wielding stalker, thus proving he (the hero, not the stalker) is not the beta male she thought he was. He’s totally alpha. And he just proposed. AND he’s taking charge of their celebration sex right this minute, blowing the heroine’s mind, so I ask you: Is now REALLY the time to be asking me where your shoes are?

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