Lost Girl

God I miss writing! There it is, I said it so Why don't I write more? Good question, one that I sadly have no answer for. I suppose its my own damn fault. I let life and work and depression and stupid seizures or whatever the heck they are get in my way. So What if I don't feel like I am writing anything worth a damn! The longer I go, the harder it gets to get back in the saddle. I just need to sit down and write. I don't know what I am afraid of or why I am my own worst enemy but I am. If I fail, its because I didn't push hard enough. I didn't stick to it and push through the hard part. Yes! Rejection sucks, no one likes it but why cant I just persevere and muddle through? why do I always give up just short of the finish line? God I hate that about myself.  How do I change something within me that I don't even notice until after the fact. I just keep getting sucked into this stupid cycle of unhappiness, of failure because I am a disappointment to myself. Then, I get down, the depression swamping me until I fell like I will suffocate. I kick myself in the butt and try to pull it together but I just go numb. It easier not to feel anything than to feel everything and I loose myself in the I don't give a damns because then I don't care about anything. why cant I find a middle ground? Is this all life is?the quest for sanity and a middle ground. living for the next prozac so that i am numb and happy and don't give a damn in a hole different way because all my cares just drift away in a chemical haze? What is happiness? Is it different things to different people? Is it just finding that middle ground where you are content with life and they way things are? I feel glimpses of it. Fleeting moments of joy and satisfaction in things that I cant even explain. Mostly I feel happiness in creating things that are beautiful. In having that beauty surround me. My writing, the words like music to my soul makes me happy, decorating my home so that that I am surrounded by things I chose and placed with care make me happy, Drawing, Art, creation! Those things make me happy.  I want to share my creations with the world but my pool of  friends and acquaintances is so small and their interests so different I feel like I can't. I feel stuck. I feel alone, I feel insecure... What if they don't like it? what if they don't like me? what if, what if, what if...Then I get sucked into the cycle again and that fleeting moment of joy drowns in insecurities and self doubt. Then its another pill to feel human again. to relax again and let it all go and then I am drifting...drifting...drifting... lost once more.

Back In the Saddle Again

Well it has been a rough couple of years for me and I haven't progressed much on the writing front. The truth is I have been my own worst enemy. I have let life get in the way of my writing instead of making my writing part of my life. I let a few rejections get to me instead of taking them in stride and letting them make me more determined. I have lost sight on why I write. I forgot the joy it brings me, the escape from life's every day stresses that helps keep my sanity intact, and the rush I get when my worlds and characters become so real that they take on a life of their own.
I resolve from this day to bring writing back into my life. To write a little something every day and to push myself to publish the works I have already finished while working on the projects that need completion.
This cowgirl is climbing back into the saddle and I'm going to hold on tight until I am riding easy once more.

Why do I Write Romance?

         I love being a writer. To me there is nothing better than creating worlds in my mind and people who can make the mistakes I have made or live the exciting lives I'll never really experience-at least outside my mind. But when I meet people, one of their first questions is always , what do you write. I smile and tell them Romance.
          Now the Romance genre has been mocked for years, some saying it's to unrealistic or that it doesn't take a lot of talent to write that kind of stuff, and I have to say that is an utter load of crap! I recently read a blog by Dakota Cassidy on book adicts.com where she spoke about why she writes romance. And I absolutely loved what she had to say. As such I'm, coppying her blog here for you too read.

Why Do I Write Romance,
Because I want to.
The End.
No. I kid.
So why romance novels? I can’t tell you how often people outside the industry ask me that very question when they hear what my chosen profession is. “Why, of all the things to write, do you write romance novels?”
My answer is always the same: Because travel brochures are boring and Trigonometry For Dummies is so last year’s Slap Chop.
Again, I kid. But the truth is, if the question’s posed with one of those condescending sneers, I don’t get defensive. I don’t balk. Well, sometimes I flip the questioner the bird, but that’s only in the extreme disapproval stage of the game. Mostly, I just answer: Because dude, it’s good times!

I could spout all the pros for writing romance all day long, but I’d just be reiterating what romance writers have been saying forever. Stuff like, what better job to have than one you can perform in your pajamas? And I don’t mean the kind of pajamas you get at Zone D’ Erotica. What better job to have than one that takes you anywhere you’re little heart desires at any given time? What better job to have than one that allows you to make crap up and no one calls you a liar? What better job to have than one that involves paranormal creatures, or crazy situations designed to test the limits of credibility? What better job to have than one where you can claim your midnight run to McDonalds on your taxes because you had the best idea evah while you were in the car, heading to pick up your Value Meal? What better job to have than one that pays you to do all of the above?

I could also boast that in the fictional world, romance ranks purty damn high in the winner-winner chicken dinner industry payout. But what’s the point? Why should I justify what I write, or how I choose to make my living? I don’t ask the garbage man why garbage, do I? I don’t ask the stripper why a pole either. Romance writers are some of the hardest working people I know. They toil over every word. They spend long hours not just thinking stuff up, but bringing a story as close to perfection as they possibly can, and we don’t get a whole lot of respect from those outside the genre.
Yet, we survive. We thrive on the barbs and continue, as a whole, to make this genre one of the most popular in fiction. We adjust. We constantly reinvent ourselves. We pretty much rock.

I write romance because there’s nothing I love more than making stuff up. Making people up. I’m a born entertainer. I love a crowd, I love people, and I especially love to laugh. I love to make people laugh. But I also love love. Two people falling in love is, in my opinion, the slam-dunk of fun.

I’m not necessarily talking the rainbows and lollipops kind of romance—though I heart that, too. I just blow at writing it. I have a snarkier, more hard-edged humorous slant on falling in love, and I guess part of that comes from the hearty doses of reality I’ve experienced over the course of almost forty-five years. It’s probably given me the less conventional approach to romance in that, there aren’t a whole lot of “I’d die without you’s” going on in my books.
Because you most assuredly won’t die without a man. I don’t care how good he is on a Tempur-Pedic—you’ll live if he dumps you for Silicone Barbie.
However, I do believe in finding the one person in the world who fits just you. I do believe in never settling for anything less than the dude who makes your heart belt out Celine Dion songs while Boyz to Men sings backup and a field of buttercups sways to the rhythm of the beat in the background.
I do believe you can laugh, cry, share an adventure and a tube of toothpaste with one person and find the kind of love you deserve. I do believe you can be in love with someone without losing your independence, without giving up the things you enjoy (like, decoupage, for instance), without doing anything other than just being you. I believe falling in love should be an enhancement to your already full life, and that enhancement should always treat you like you’re the most valued human being on earth.
I write romance because I believe. I believe there can be a happily ever after. I believe there can be total commitment between two people. I believe the readers who love romance connect on a million different levels via something as unbelievable as a werewolf or a vampire.
This writing thing was a total accident for me. If I’ve said it once in my seven-year career, I’ve said it a thousand times, “I didn’t mean to write a romance novel—it just happened.” But I think it’s rather telling that the first thing I chose to write (and I do mean ever) was a romance. I’ve read them all my life, but they weren’t the only genre I read. Yet, I’m not churning out the next Stephen King (like I could anyway) or Robin Cook, and that’s a for sure kind of statement.
I write romance because it offers hope, joy, the chance to dream a little dream, hook up with a genie, visit a place I may never see in reality.
I write it because no one can or will tell me I can’t.
So the next time someone has the gall to mock you for reading a romance, offer them this: “Blow me. When was the last time you got your hands on a hot vampire/werewolf/demon/cougar while you were in the Netherlands on a pirate ship with a duke who’s just time-traveled with his spaceship from some newly discovered, unpronounceable futuristic planet via the fiery planes of Hell after meeting a millionaire Internet mogul on an island off the Ivory Coast?”
Yeah. It’s like that.
Dakota Cassidy lives for a good laugh in life and in her writing. In fact, she almost loves a good giggle as much as she loves hair products and that’s saying something.
Her goals in life are simple, (like really simple): banish the color yellow forever, create world peace via hot rollers and Aqua Net; and finally, nab every tiara in the land by competing in the Miss USA, Miss Universe, and Miss World pageants, then sweeping them in a stunning trifecta of much duct tape and Vaseline usage, all in just under one week. Oh, and write really fun books!
Dakota lives in Texas with her two sons, her mother, more cats and dogs than the local animal shelter and has a husband who puts the heroes in her books to shame.

If you have not read Dakota yet, run to your local bookstore and get a copy of her books because she is truly awsome.

Deleated Scenes

          No matter how much you love a scene you may have written, sometimes no matter haow much you try or how much you love it, it just doesn't work.
          So what do you do? Well I wondered that myself.
          I know this is a problem many writers are face with and the most common thing I have heard is not just throwing the scene out but saving it in a file for later use. In a Series, for example Laurell K Hamilton's Anita Blake series, a scene cut from one novel might work in another novel with just some minor changes. In a stand alone the same principal applies, you just may have to tailor things more to fit whatever your currently writing.
          And so, I myself have begun to keep a file for deleted scenes. Scenes I love but for whatever reason, was unable to use. Below is a Scene I wrote form my Novel 'Darkness Falls' and though it is a scene I love, It will never see publication. As such, I thought I could post it here and maybe someone else can read it and enjoy it as I did.

Scene: Kat and Micha

It was well after three a.m. though by the looks of the party surrounding Katrìana, you would never know it.

She had been following the rave scene for months now loving the life style, the dark music, the freedom and everything that came with the night life. Of course for her, nightlife was the only kind of life and the humans who also followed the scene…well, they had learned to live for the night too, co-existing along side vampyres like her.

Scanning the darkened interior of the previously empty warehouse, Katrìana was not surprised at its easy transition into makeshift night club. She had seen the rave’s promoters do magic with places like this before and this location was no different.

 Pulse pounding music pumped through the space, its rhythm heavy and wild. The techno mix version of Rob Zombies ‘Dragula’ prodding the throng of bodies to jump and sway to its beat making the place come alive.

Smiling, she caught sight of Micah standing over behind the bar and headed his direction. She had spent more than a few nights with the sexy, human, bartender since joining the traveling rave three months ago and she knew, she would spend a few nights more.

“Hello beautiful,” he greeted leaning over the bar and running his lips from the corner of her mouth to her ear. “Were you looking for me?”

“Always, you know that,” she replied flashing him a sexy smile before kissing his clean shaven cheek. “But actually, I was hoping to find Natasha.”

“Aww come on,” he pouted playfully, only smiling after she kissed him again, nibbling lightly on his bottom lip.

 “She was here earlier but I haven’t seen her for a while,” he replied, pulling back from her lips as he grabbed a clean white towel and begin wiping down the surface of the bar.

Kat frowned in disappointment. “Do you remember what time it was?”

“About ten I think.”

 “Well shit,” she cursed softly. Natasha was her best friend and room mate, not to mention the only other person with a key to their hotel room. Since Kat had lost her own key, she was royally screwed.

Micah grinned as she explained her situation.  “You know you are welcome to crash at my place,” he replied running a hand through his dyed black hair while rolling his tongue ring between his teeth seductively. “I’ll even throw in breakfast,” he added with a wink.

She smiled and laughed “You wish,” she answered knowing she could do a hell of a lot worse than Micah’s bed. For a human he was a very enthusiastic lover and as a Day Walker, a very rare thing for her kind, she didn’t have to fear the intruding sunlight frying her to a crisp while she slept the day away in his arms.

 “Every day baby, every day,” Micah laughed, the rich, warm sound of his voice making Kat shiver in want for another night (500words) with him.

“If you see Natasha let her know I am looking for her.”

Micah nodded as she blew him a kiss and walked away, feeling his eyes upon her leather encased ass as she went. She knew Micah was supposed to be just a fling; he was human after all. But as an immortal she had several lives to live, and for now, she was enjoying Micah.

Gliding sinuously through the crowd of people she moved toward the back of the club, and was immediately greeted by a group of friends. Most of them were like her, vampyres who followed the rave. They enjoyed the atmosphere of darkness and blood which was given freely by the humans who longed for—and often pretended to be—what they really were.

The relationship between the humans and vampires had always been a symbiotic one. Once bitten, humans experience a sensuous feast of feeling and sensation, a taste of euphoria that is all theirs for that one moment in time. For the vampyres the experience is pleasurable as well but in different ways, and after feeding, they are well sated in their own right.

Closing her eyes, Kat took in the air around her seeking some sign of Natasha’s lingering presence. The scent of sweat and blood surrounded her causing flashes of Micah to flitter through her mind. Vivid pictures of her fangs sinking into the tender skin of his neck, of taking from him as he gave back to her, not just blood but other things a man and a woman could share.

Shaking the vision from her mind she turned to the others mentally chastising herself.

Bad Vampyre, she thought, No cookie! Natasha first, blood later. Taking a deep breath she cleared her mind and asked the others about Natasha. No one had seen her and with daylight moving ever nearer she worried about her friend who unlike her, could not withstand the light of day.

“Tasha, where are you,” she whispered to herself as she said her goodbyes to the others and wove her way back through the crowd. It wasn’t like her friend to disappear for so long without telling anyone where she would be. Kat had a bad a feeling about this whole situation and the longer she searched for Natasha, the worse her feeling became.

Detouring to do a quick check of the bathroom Kat, feeling frustrated, took a deep breath and leaned against the bathroom counter peering into the mirror. Her short hair was as black as night with the exception of her bangs which fell over heavily kohl lined eyes in a spill of vibrant blue. Her face was beautiful, “classically elegant but ruined with that modern style,” as her mother had always said.

She scowled at the memory of her mothers words. It had once bothered her that she didn’t fit in with her mother’s ideal image of beauty but as she got older she came to love herself and embrace her individuality. Perhaps that was why she felt so at home with the modern Goth crowd. They tended to embrace their differences not caring what others thought of them, she respected their wisdom and wished others would share the view.

Unsure of what else to do, she made her way back toward the bar when suddenly she was stopped short.

Something was wrong.

Things had felt wrong since the night began but that bad feeling abruptly intensified into a gut-wrenching knot which took her breath away. Gasping for air she fought to calm herself as a strange icy, tingling sensation crawled down the back of her neck causing her to shiver. Swallowing the hard knot of fear which had risen in her throat, she slowly turned, scanning through the throng of partiers until her eyes locked on her target.

He was staring at her from across the room with eyes as cold as any she had ever seen. He seemed hauntingly familiar and yet not but either way he was looking at her like a jaguar who had just found his next meal and it was a look that chilled her to the bone.

He was tall and gorgeous, dressed all in black like many of the others here. His face was angelic in its perfection surrounded by a curtain of long dark hair. But this man was no angel and the air of darkness that surrounded him made her shiver at his presence telling her that he was definitely not like the others.

He felt like darkness incarnate, the manifestation of every nightmare she had ever had—and ever would—all wrapped up into to one. He set off every natural alarm she had. She could taste the fear in the back of her throat at being the subject of his dark gaze. Her heart rising to a staccato rhythm as her mind screamed out in warning, telling her to run.

She swallowed again not sure what to do, caught between morbid curiosity and self preservation. Turning from him she quickly darted over to the bar where Micah was putting away glasses and cleaning in preparation to close up for the night. She could still feel that strange itch of stranger’s eyes following her as she went and it was making her heart flutter and her breath catch as she tried not to panic even though everything inside her told her to do just that.

It was nearly five a.m. and things were winding down for the night. The vampyres would soon be disappearing to tuck themselves in for the day safely away from the killing sun. The humans would be sleeping off a night filled with sex, booze and whatever else they had chosen to indulge in.

“Does your offer for a place to crash still stand?” she asked, moving around the bar until she stood just behind the counter at Micah’s side.

He smiled seductively as he backed her up against the wall and leaned into her close. “I knew you were dying to see me naked again.”

Kat laughed lightly she tried to remain calm not letting him see how nervous she really was. Taking a deep breath she cranked up her smile, turning her attention the man before her. It was true, she was looking forward to seeing him sans clothes again but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing it. Micah was cocky enough without her feeding his ego.

“You’re such an ass hole,” she answered in reply.

“I know.” He kissed her, sliding his tongue along the seam of her lips as he lightly palmed her breasts in a proprietary manner before leaning back to look at her. Examining her expression he frowned, “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, there was just this guy watching me and he was kind of giving me the creeps,” she explained shrugging her shoulders lightly.

“What guy?” Micah asked, his body stiffening as if tensing for a fight. His arms tightened around her waist, his dark eyes going hard as he immediately began to scan the room for the ass hole messing with his girl.

“Don’t worry about it,” Kat told him, secretly adoring his He-man reaction. “I think he’s gone now anyway. I just want to get out of here.”

“Okay,” he said focusing his attention back on her. “Give me fifteen minutes to get this place wrapped up?”

“Can you finish in ten?” she asked still feeling the itch along her spine.

 “For you baby, I’ll do it in eight.”

Kat smiled pushing aside her nervousness and gave Micah a come hither stare. “You do it in eight and we will definitely revisit that whole ‘naked’ discussion.”

“I knew you wanted me,” he answered victoriously causing her to laugh. Grinning like he’d just won the lottery, Micah gave her a burning look of desire before he leaned in, dropped a kiss on her forehead and rushed off to complete his chores.

Turning around Kat looked over to the spot where the man had stood watching her. He was gone. She didn’t see or feel him any more, that itching, tingle disappearing along with him. Sighing with relief she took a seat at the bar and waited for Micah.

The Art of Writing

I have recently looked back on old projects and was suprised to see how far I have progressed since my days as an early writer. Not only is my writing better but my entire craft is more than it once was. I have learned so just from the whole process of writing, reading, submitting, rejection. It has all been such a learning process and one I didn't even realize the extent of until I looked back at my work and the journey from first book to fifth. I suppose it's all normal stuff people learn along the way, trial and error and what not. But in looking back, I reminded myself how much I have enjoyed not just the writing itself, because lets face it, that is really what keeps me up at night glued to my computer, but I have enjoyed the writing process and learning the art of writing itself.

How do you Balance Life and Writing

This was a question posed on Nathan Bransford's (author and former literary agent) blog.
Balance for mosr any writers is a challenge for sure. I believe it is a very difficult thing to get a good grip on especially on those days when the chacters in my head are clammoring so loud to have their story told, then it is even harder to ignore. But, life must come first. Chidren, school, work, dishes, laundry...All must be tended to before I can drift away to world unknown. Sonedays I am good at this, others not so much. I try to spend my days doing all the nessessary life things and then once dinner is done, the kids are fed and tucked in for the night, I can fall into my own world and give those characters the voice they have been begging for all day. Unfortunatly, that often makes for extremely late nights and going to bed at two a.m. when you have to get up at six makes for a long day...

The Scenic Route

     35,000 words to date on my newest WIP and still going strong. I have never really written this much, well accept for Nanowrimo, but that was different because I knew I was writing crap. I was just trying to crank out the words. With this story I am just trying to tell the story and though it will need some amount of revision I feel like most of it is pretty decent. And so, as I set my media player to todays playlist, I find my self eager to begin again and see what I will create.
     I think that is one thing I like so much about being a writer. Even when I set out with a clear idaea of where my story will end up, the journey getting there is hardly ever like I planned. It's that unexpected scenic route that I often find I love the best.