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.

New Years Snow

I awoke this moring to find my world hand been dusted with a sugar coating of snow. It is not enouth to ammount to much, but just enough to make the world around me seem pristine and white. As I have moved recently to a lower elevation, I wasn't holding out much hope for snow this year which I must say dissapointed me a bit. But I was very excited to find the little bit that greeted me this morning and find that it is the perfect begining to what I hope will be a promising new year...

Something, Is Always Better Than Nothing

     So I must say my head has been lost in all things pirate the last several days and I have completed nearly 70 pages of my most current WIP since Christmas alone which I cant decide if that's a good thing or bad. Good, because I am putting the words on paper, telling my story(or at least my Characters story) for the rest of the heard to hear. Bad, because of all that amassed word count, I cant help but wonder if the writing itself is any good. Either way, I am going to press on, wracking up the words until I get to the finish. I suppose that is why they call it a rough draft. Who writes a story perfectly on the first try. I guess I need to let go of the worries that it isn't good and just keep on writing after as my mentor and author Judi McCoy always says, "You can fix crap, but you cant fix, nothing."

Historical

     So I have begun a new adventure that is taking me from my ususal comfort zone of writing modern paranormals into uncharted territories. I have embarked on a Historical Novel entitled Avery's Journal, a story about a woman who lived her life outside the proper British expectation to became a Pirate. The WIP is something which has been simmering in my head for about ten years now, but recently Avery (my main character) has been clamoring to have her story told.
     And so, I have embarked upon a new journey testing the waters of the world of Historical writing. I am finding much more difficult than writing in modern day settings and my respect for those wonderful pioneers of this genre has risen exponentially.
     I am having to do much more researh to be sure I am using proper therms of speech, correct fashions for the time period and also the sailing lingo (after all it is a pirate story) beacuse I have not an inkling how to sail much less how to write about sailing in the 18th century. 
     For now I am just glossing over some of the lingo and historically correct accounts and just focusing on the writing itself. I can always do more research and add the information later but as long as Avery is calling to me, I can do no less than answer.
     Perhaps I can search out some firends who write mostly historicals and see if they have any advise or trusted resources, until then I'll let Avery take the helm and just sit back and enjoy where ever she decides to take me.

Christmas Gifts

     Another Christmas has come and gone and over all it was a really lovely day. I love the excitment of the kids when they wake up in the morning dying to see what Santa has brouhgt and tear open the presents which have been under the tree torturing them for the last few weeks with the surprises hidden inside the prettily wrapped packages.
     I also love spending time with family, seeing those loved ones who you only see once or twice a year or in my case that special cousin I havn't seen in ten years.
   While some people complain that Christmas has become to comercial and to much about the process of buying gifts and who got what, I think that those are the people that forget the main Idea of the holiday. Sure we buy gifts, but I buy them to give them to the people I love and see the hapiness that it brings them. It's not about what I get in return, its about what I can give, it's about seeing those that I love light up with joy, It's about sharing warm thoughts with family and friends and thanking god for the gifts that I have been given in my life. That to me is the best part of Christmas and regarless of haw many gifts there were under the tree for me, the best gift was the gift of  love.

The Learning Curve.

      Okay, here is a random observation that I have just made in my tiny littel brain. I have written four books now and each time I have finished one, I think wow, that's the best thing I ever wrote. At the time I said it of course, it was true, looking back, I cringe.
     I have really written some craptastic stuff! I guess that is the normal progression, the learning curve as it were, that with each book you get better. I would imagine that most authors see huge difference in writing skill between their first book and say, their thirtieth. 
     Now the first book that I wrote, really was the best thing I had ever written, at that time at least. It was 200 pages, so it was by far the largest thing I have ever tackeled. Rereading it now gives me a head ache. There is jus much wrong, its not even fixable or salvagable in any way shape or form. It might, no, scratch that, it would make excellent fire starter though. 
     My second book, which was even longer still was better that the first by leaps and bounds and I still love the story, but the book itself, I realized, though fixable, was more of a detailed outline or synopsis rather than an actual novel. I mean sure, I walk the reader through the chain of events culminating in the climax, then the resolution etc... but thats it. My setting aren't clear, the time line is confusing and the characters are flat, completely lacking emotion and personality. Who the hell wants to read on and see what happens when they don't care enough about the characters their reading about, to give a damn.
     The third book I wrote I can look back at now and say it was a decent effort. The characters have evolved into people to me, where the others never really did and I think it was because I relized that to make a character convincing there had to more to them that just the story. They had to have a past, to be real, to joke and laugh and cry and use dialoge that a person would use in the real world and not just some stick up their behind proper Grammer conversation, which sounds nothing like how real people talk.
     I learned to make the worlds I was creating, into worlds that my readers could envision, that they could see, sence, hear, feel, touch, taste, breathe...
     All this learning and experience has brought me to my most recent book, and finally I feel that I have something that is publish worthey. I have crafted characters in this book that are so real to me, I feel that I know them, I can place them in the real world in real life situation or say, Yeah so and so loves that too or what's-his-name is just as hot as that guy. 
     I have created bonds, friendships and enemies that are almost tangable and everytime I read about them I get excited. I feel a great sense of accomplishment that the people have taken on a life of their own all from just the seed of imagination I had planted in my mind.
    I guess this is a normal thing for begining writers or at least I would think so, there has to be a learning curve or how does one improve?
     I wonder if when I get to my thirtieth Novel, I will look back at my Fourth, or this blog and laugh saying "Wow, and I thought that crap was good."
     I don't know, but what I do know is that at his point, I feel pretty confident in my writing and look forward to getting better every day. As to how I'll feel when I get to number 30, I dont know, I'll let you know when I get there. :)

My Muse has come out to play

Every day for the last month or so I have turned on my computer opened up my microsoft word and stared at the pages waiting for my inspiration to come and every day I have come up blank feeling stuck as i try to over analize my plot and characters to the point of insanity. I was begining to feel like my muse had packed up and left me for green pastures or at least a more creative one. And then suddenly she came back and she has opened up the flood gates blowing to peices the creative damn so that now it seems I cant quit writing. On tuesday I wrote 7 pages a pretty good total for one day I thought but I wasnt done yet. Wednessday I wrote 8 pages even better than the day before but still feeling hot to trot I kept on going. today I have written 12 pages and still going and I wish I could just keep it going instead of having to stop to do stupid things like cook dinner and sleep, but oh well. All and all 27 pages for three days is pretty damn good. Hopefully my muse will continue to play in my garden of creativity and then I may just get this book finished yet!!!!!

Sometimes you just gotta let it go.

         I have been working on my latest book for a while now and though it has been making good progress it has been tough because no matter how far I get it just seemed that there was no end in sight. There is still so much story line to go but the pages are mounting along with my nerves, and then it came to me. I am not going to be able to put all this story into one book, there is just to much, its too overwhelming, but if I put it in a series of books, 2-3 where I can space everything out so that it is not so overwhelming then I can give more attention to each different plot line and everything would be better.
     And so, that decided, I have begun again with much renewed enthusiasm and excitment that I can see the end of book one in sight and am working on the story line for book two. I guess all along I just needed to let go of the idea that all these details had to fit into one neat package and just let the writing cary itself where it wants to go.
     Sometimes as a writer it is hard to remember that. After all it is art of sorts, it may not be what you intended to create when you set out but then after you finish you stand back and look at it. Eventhough it wasnt what you envisioned, it is still a beautiful thing.
     After all the stress and worrying about how I was going to get everything in there, I can now look and see my book for what it is. Beautiful...

Why Wont You Die Already?

      Okay, so most of you people know by now that I am a writer which my husband thinks make me the eqivilant of a crazy person as I am always talking about the people who live inside my head and how they like to argue with me.
     "Why argue?" He asks, "Your the writer, they're not real people just make them do what you want them to do."
     Well thats easier said than done.
     In the course of writing my current novel I have developed this character named Vanessa. She is quirky and tough, quick witted and fast with the comebacks. She is very rough around the edges and really toes the line between being an evil bitch and a take no shit suvivor. I had orrigionally just written her in as a small character, to play a role in a fight scene and be killed off,  but the more I wrote about her the more her character began to develope and grow into something that has far exceeded my expectations. Being the psychotic writer that I am I have tried to kill Vanessa off three times and yet she still lives enduring me to her snotty remarks and witty sarcasm with every scene that she is in. I keep thinking This girl has to die and yet she keeps thwarting my every effort.
     Now I have resigned myself to her presence liking her more and more every day and not only have I decided to stay her execution but I have been playing match maker in my head deciding with who out of the other voices that live inside my head might appriciate this fast talking annoyingly infectous creature I have created. (I know scarry isn't it.)
     Jeez, Im not even done writing this book and yet I feel a sequal comming on. Well what more can I say except well played Vanessa, you will live to see another day and welcome to my world of insanity....

Crazy!

Each day my husband comes home from work, sets down his tools or what ever else he happens to be carrying, hangs up his coat greets the kids and asks the age old question to each of them in turn, "How was your day?" They each answer telling him what ever teenage (or 9 year old) drama had befallen them that day or give the more common response of "Nothing." which I mean really, Nothing? they left the house for eight hours and did abousoloutly nothing, what did they lock them selves into an empty box for the day? Kids!!!! Any way, after hearing the kids rattle off their often unenthused and verrying responses he finally ambles over my way and gives me a small hello kiss. I know then that it is comming. It is inevitable as the dawn of a new day so I wait.... and BINGO, "What did you do today?" Of course my mind sifts through all the possible answers, dishes, laundry, saving the world from blood sucking vampires (after all I am a writer), wow I was busy today, as my mind tries to process all this I smile and simply shrug. "Nothing." I reply. Wow, maybe my kids arent as crazy as I thought!!!!!

Procrastination pays off!

Okay so here I am at my computer where I have been all morning trying to write this scene in my latest book and I find myself stuck. It is so weird sometimes. Its like I know what I want my characters to do and where the story should go next but sometime my people just dont want to go with the program. I call my Charactors my people because to me they are people with past's and thoughts and feelings. My husband thinks I am crazy and when I start ranting that Cassi (the heroine in my current novel) just isn't co-operating with me he looks at me as if  have completely lost it. So as I have waisted away my morning wallowing in procrastination I decided to check out Laurell K Hamiltons web site, who is (if you dont already know) a fabulous author and one of my very faveorites) and I happened to click on her blog. Suprisingly enough Luarell who is a New York Times Best selling Author several times over, had posted a blog where she was speaking of her own little case of writers block. Now I must say this must have been fortuitous because though I have been to her web site before I had never read her blog, and I found what she wrote to be most insiteful and helpful into my own current blockage. In essense she said it was okay that Cassi was arguing with me and that I should listen to her better after all this is Cassi's stroy not mine I am just the one putting it down on paper. For some reason this made alot of sense to me and I will try harder to listen to my people in the future. It also made me happy because I was reassured that I am not the only writer out there with people running around in my head trying to boss me arround. My husbands sais he guesses thats okay as long as his people and my people dont start trying to talk or stage a coup he will just have to live with the fact that I am not the only person that lives inside my mind.