Reading Vonnie Davis’ post today about being woken in the middle of the night by characters inspired some thoughts. I think this may be more of a response to her article, but I feel the need to share. I believe at one point, Vonnie asked the question, “Who’s the writer here?” I had to laugh when I read that. I’m forever intrigued by other writers’ “processes” and this is a question I ask myself all the time when I’m writing. The experience she describes is one I have often, so it amazes me to see that someone else does that. It was a “ha! So I’m not alone!” kind of moment.
As the writer of my books, I like to pretend I’m in control. I write these books. My characters do what I tell them to.
A bit of an aside here—Dillon, from The Playboy’s Baby, just laughed at me. He’s standing on the other of the kitchen, leaning his tall frame against the wall, arms folded across his chest. He grins and winks at me and says, “You keep telling yourself that.”
And that is the sad, gleeful truth of it. I always like to start each book with a plan, some semblance of an idea of where I’m going. But it never fails. There always comes a point where I realize I’m no longer in control anymore. Where the characters take over completely. I was just re-reading TPB this morning. I’d just gotten to the first love scene when I had to stop and laugh. I remember my surprise when the heroine, Emma, revealed she was a virgin…right in the middle of the scene. Hadn’t bothered to tell me this beforehand. sigh
I wasn’t the only one surprised. Poor Dillon hadn’t expected it either. ;)
Now, this happens in every single book. In my current WIP, I was stuck for the longest time. These characters were being very stingy with their story. I must have rewritten the beginning four different ways. One afternoon my hero, Colt, finally took pity on me and whispered in my ear, “take the love scene out of chapter three. And put chapter two back the way it was.” Low and behold, the whole story opened up on me. And I realized, yet again, that I am no longer in control. And it's only chapter three!
But you know what? I don’t think I’d have it any other way. I am simply the vessel, at their beck and call, happily jotting down the stories they tell me. Here's hoping they all eventually find a home, so I can share them all with you.
Thursday, July 28, 2011
Thursday, July 21, 2011
Writer's Block
I have trouble keeping up this blog. I'm not much of a talker, so finding topics is very difficult for me. But I heard that you should let your readers into your world. What's going on with you. That's what partly inspired this post. What's going on with me? I currently have writer's block. Aka I'm not writing. And it's making me nuts.
Every writer I know hates writer's block and almost every writer has suffered from it at one point. It's that point when the muse simply refuses to play nice. Maybe she’s tired and wants a vacation. Some muses like to be wined and dined. If you don’t feed them chocolate and wine (mine prefers a nice rose. *wink*), they tend to go on strike, don’t you know. How dare we treat them this way?
However you want to describe it, it’s that moment when you sit down at the computer (or with the pen and paper, if you do it old school) and nothing comes. Or, in my case, when the ideas seem great until I start to put them on paper. When everything I attempt to write goes absolutely nowhere and I find myself with a bazillion little snippets of scenes and no plot, and I’d rather go play the games on my iPad because they’re more interesting.
It’s gone on for months now and it’s making me crazy. For me, I’m think some of it may be stress. Life has erupted on me as of late. I’ll spare you the long winded whine (because if I tell you, that's exactly what it would be--me, complaining. lol). The real point is, I’m not writing, and I HATE it. I have three chapters and 20 pages of scene snippets for a story that ought to be emotional and gripping, but in actuality is lacking...well, something and is going completely nowhere.
I’ve tried everything. I’ve tried free writing, you know, writing whatever comes to me. I’ve tried brainstorming with critique partners. I’ve tried allowing myself to write crap (you know, of the “Jane sees Bob. Jane likes bob. Bob sees Jane” variety that make you cringe when you re-read it). I’ve tried writing other stories and have done exactly the same things with them. So as of right now, I have a high school reunion story started, the first chapter of a ghost story I have no idea what to do with, and as of this morning, the first scene in a paranormal involving a woman who can see and speak with angels and is sent to save a man’s life.
Nothing is working. None of these stories are grabbing me and I would much rather go do laundry. I would love to say I have all these wonderful suggestions about what to do when you’re in this place, but I’m afraid I don’t. I suppose I have nothing to do but give in, go find a book that interests me (Vonnie Davis' "Storm's Interlude" has caught my eye recently) and dive in.
So I thought I’d put it out there and ask. What do you when the writing is going nowhere?
Every writer I know hates writer's block and almost every writer has suffered from it at one point. It's that point when the muse simply refuses to play nice. Maybe she’s tired and wants a vacation. Some muses like to be wined and dined. If you don’t feed them chocolate and wine (mine prefers a nice rose. *wink*), they tend to go on strike, don’t you know. How dare we treat them this way?
However you want to describe it, it’s that moment when you sit down at the computer (or with the pen and paper, if you do it old school) and nothing comes. Or, in my case, when the ideas seem great until I start to put them on paper. When everything I attempt to write goes absolutely nowhere and I find myself with a bazillion little snippets of scenes and no plot, and I’d rather go play the games on my iPad because they’re more interesting.
It’s gone on for months now and it’s making me crazy. For me, I’m think some of it may be stress. Life has erupted on me as of late. I’ll spare you the long winded whine (because if I tell you, that's exactly what it would be--me, complaining. lol). The real point is, I’m not writing, and I HATE it. I have three chapters and 20 pages of scene snippets for a story that ought to be emotional and gripping, but in actuality is lacking...well, something and is going completely nowhere.
I’ve tried everything. I’ve tried free writing, you know, writing whatever comes to me. I’ve tried brainstorming with critique partners. I’ve tried allowing myself to write crap (you know, of the “Jane sees Bob. Jane likes bob. Bob sees Jane” variety that make you cringe when you re-read it). I’ve tried writing other stories and have done exactly the same things with them. So as of right now, I have a high school reunion story started, the first chapter of a ghost story I have no idea what to do with, and as of this morning, the first scene in a paranormal involving a woman who can see and speak with angels and is sent to save a man’s life.
Nothing is working. None of these stories are grabbing me and I would much rather go do laundry. I would love to say I have all these wonderful suggestions about what to do when you’re in this place, but I’m afraid I don’t. I suppose I have nothing to do but give in, go find a book that interests me (Vonnie Davis' "Storm's Interlude" has caught my eye recently) and dive in.
So I thought I’d put it out there and ask. What do you when the writing is going nowhere?
Monday, July 18, 2011
Celebrating Our 15th Anniversary
Today my husband, Chris and I are celebrating our fifteenth anniversary, and I thought I’d commemorate the day by sharing our story. I can hardly believe it’s been that long. You always joke and say, “Geez, where does the time go?” but it really does by when you aren’t looking, doesn’t it? I have a sixteen year old son now who just got his driver’s license. I swear he was this big just yesterday.
Chris and I met in college. Purdue University, in Lafayette, Indiana. I was a Psychology major, my husband majored in Computer Aided Design. The story is a little corny, but it is what is. I placed an add in the local newspaper, in the personals column. That was long before the internet and all those match-making sites, don’t you know. ‘Cause I’m just that old (so my sixteen year old likes to remind me. lol). I was bored with my romantic lot in life, had just wizened up and dumped a loser of a boyfriend, and thought it might be fun. First time I spoke to him on the phone, I couldn’t understand a word he said. I grew up on the west coast, he grew up in Indiana, and had the thickest Midwestern accent I’d ever heard. I kept having to ask him to repeat everything. I’m surprised he ever called me back. Lol
First time I actually met him in person he surprised me at work. I worked in a gas station as a cashier. He worked delivering pizzas, and came up to my station to get gas and to check me out. We were together every day after that. He was and still is my best friend.
Ah, but Chris and I did things a bit backwards. We had the baby first, and married a year later, about two weeks after our son’s first birthday. We were married in the county courthouse, in jeans and T-shirts. I was nervous and he looked scared to death. Lol And no, I didn’t miss the traditional wedding. It doesn’t bother me that I didn’t have some fancy wedding gown or a great big white wedding cake. I’m not much of a dress wearer anyway and my behind doesn't really need the cake. I guess you could say we just kind of eloped. He looked at me one day and said, “Let’s get married" and I said, “Okay.” And here we are, fifteen years later.
He’s kind of quirky, my husband. He’s not a romantic man, but I like to call him my very own hero, because he’d do anything for me. I don’t get flowers on birthdays or our anniversary. In fact, all that lovely courtship stuff stopped somewhere around the time the baby came. If you ask my husband, he says flowers just die. Waste of money. Instead, he gives me plants, so I can plant them in the garden in the front of our house. So I can have flowers every day, not just for a week at a time. He’s not a reader, jokingly calls what I write “smut”, but supports my writing. He cheers me on, and bought me my first laptop so I could have something all for me to be able to write on. He makes me laugh, even when I’m ticked at him. He even cooks and helps around the house without having to be asked.
Like any marriage, ours isn’t perfect. There are times when I want to kill him, and times when I’m positive he wants to kill me (and that I probably deserve it wink). But for the most part, I can honestly say we’re happily married. I feel blessed to have him.
Happy Anniversary, babe. Here’s to fifteen more. <3
Chris and I met in college. Purdue University, in Lafayette, Indiana. I was a Psychology major, my husband majored in Computer Aided Design. The story is a little corny, but it is what is. I placed an add in the local newspaper, in the personals column. That was long before the internet and all those match-making sites, don’t you know. ‘Cause I’m just that old (so my sixteen year old likes to remind me. lol). I was bored with my romantic lot in life, had just wizened up and dumped a loser of a boyfriend, and thought it might be fun. First time I spoke to him on the phone, I couldn’t understand a word he said. I grew up on the west coast, he grew up in Indiana, and had the thickest Midwestern accent I’d ever heard. I kept having to ask him to repeat everything. I’m surprised he ever called me back. Lol
First time I actually met him in person he surprised me at work. I worked in a gas station as a cashier. He worked delivering pizzas, and came up to my station to get gas and to check me out. We were together every day after that. He was and still is my best friend.
Ah, but Chris and I did things a bit backwards. We had the baby first, and married a year later, about two weeks after our son’s first birthday. We were married in the county courthouse, in jeans and T-shirts. I was nervous and he looked scared to death. Lol And no, I didn’t miss the traditional wedding. It doesn’t bother me that I didn’t have some fancy wedding gown or a great big white wedding cake. I’m not much of a dress wearer anyway and my behind doesn't really need the cake. I guess you could say we just kind of eloped. He looked at me one day and said, “Let’s get married" and I said, “Okay.” And here we are, fifteen years later.
He’s kind of quirky, my husband. He’s not a romantic man, but I like to call him my very own hero, because he’d do anything for me. I don’t get flowers on birthdays or our anniversary. In fact, all that lovely courtship stuff stopped somewhere around the time the baby came. If you ask my husband, he says flowers just die. Waste of money. Instead, he gives me plants, so I can plant them in the garden in the front of our house. So I can have flowers every day, not just for a week at a time. He’s not a reader, jokingly calls what I write “smut”, but supports my writing. He cheers me on, and bought me my first laptop so I could have something all for me to be able to write on. He makes me laugh, even when I’m ticked at him. He even cooks and helps around the house without having to be asked.
Like any marriage, ours isn’t perfect. There are times when I want to kill him, and times when I’m positive he wants to kill me (and that I probably deserve it wink). But for the most part, I can honestly say we’re happily married. I feel blessed to have him.
Happy Anniversary, babe. Here’s to fifteen more. <3
Monday, July 11, 2011
Another new puppy
Okay, I’ve put this one off, but I suppose it’s time to let the cat out of the bag. I’ve found another love, and I’ve fallen hard.
Hehe. We’ve got another puppy. Most of the time we tend to call her Puppy Power. Remember Scrappy Doo, from the Scooby Doo cartoons? Well, she reminds me of him, and my husband took a twist on that, because at night, around dinner time, she gets her nightly burst of “puppy power” and goes tearing around the back yard. Lol
So, you’re wondering about the other puppy. I’m sad to say we had to take her back. She had an attitude we couldn’t handle. She would get far too aggressive and every attempt at correction only resulted in her coming back at you stronger and biting harder. It would very quickly escalate to a battle of wills and the shelter had been correct when they said she could “hold her own”, because she would not quit. Even a cry of pain would garner a harder bite. After three days, we were afraid to play with her and were all covered in bite marks (she drew blood a lot). I’m positive with the right, experienced family, that dog would do exceptionally well. She was extremely intelligent. But we weren’t that family.
Well, a few days later, I was once again perusing the dogs on Petfinder when I came across another shelter here in my city (there aren’t many). And I ran across this face:
Beside the face was the listing. There was a litter of German Shepherd/Lab mix puppies and the add said to call or email them to fill out an application and have one reserved. So, I showed my husband the face and jokingly said, “look honey, isn’t she cute?” and to my complete surprise he said, “Go ahead, reserve one.” I’m telling you, there was something about that face.
Well, the following Saturday, my eleven year old, Adam, and I go down to the local Petsmart, where the shelter was bringing the dogs. There were nine puppies in all, three girls and six boys. We were seventh in line, which meant there was supposed to be six people ahead of us, who all got first choice before we could get ours.
As an aside, I was okay with that. I'm a firm believer in Fate and something in my gut kept telling me it didn't matter when we got there--our dog was in those puppies and even if we were last, we would end up with the one that was right for us.
Well, three people didn’t show up, so by the time we’d gotten there, nobody had chosen any of the girls. Two of them were sleeping, and one was sticking her nose through the bars trying to get at the people (to lick em to death, of course). I had no idea which puppy was the one from the picture, and wasn’t sure it mattered. So we set about picking the one we wanted.
I was drawn to one in particular. She had a dark nose and a black stripe down her back, reminiscent of the Shepherd in her, that I really liked the look of. She was sleeping the entire time we were there. In fact, when our turn came and we decided to look at her, the man had to practically climb into the cage to get her out she was so relaxed.
And that’s when I fell in love. This little girl crawled up in my arms, licked my face, then laid her head on my shoulder. I just knew. It's so cliche, but it really was “that” moment. Those of you with dogs will likely understand what I mean. It’s that moment you fall head over heels in love and that “I have to have this dog” overwhelms you. I knew right then she was coming home with me. I'd found my dog.
It’s been that way ever since. She is such a cuddler. She wants to be wherever you’re at, which means that yes, she sleeps in the bed with us. We weren’t sure about crate training, so the first two nights we kept her in the kitchen (and were up every two hours). The third night, we were exhausted. Hubby goes to the kitchen to quiet her down and comes back with her. I’m telling you, some day, this dog is going to be a seventy or eighty pound lap dog. Lol
We are all in love with her, though. She chews everything in sight and is currently attempting to find out if you really can dig a hole to China in the backyard (something we're hoping the puppy education class we're in can help us with), but she is such a lover and will quite happily sit beside you on the couch and let you rub her belly. Even potty training is going well. She “gets” it and has not had an accident in the house in three days. AND...she sleeps through the night now.
We’re coming to find out she’s very friendly, loves people and dogs alike. In puppy education class yesterday she initiated play with a German Shepherd puppy three times her size. She was fearless! So long as she was doing so from under our stool. Lol
So, we’ve found the newest member of our family, and this one is here to stay. As you can see, she’s making herself right at home.
Oh. I forgot to mention the Twilight Zone moment. As I was filling out the paper work the day we got her, the man from the shelter casually mentions to me that the puppy I picked out (whom they had named "feeper", of all names) was the puppy from the picture on the website. How's that for weird?
Hehe. We’ve got another puppy. Most of the time we tend to call her Puppy Power. Remember Scrappy Doo, from the Scooby Doo cartoons? Well, she reminds me of him, and my husband took a twist on that, because at night, around dinner time, she gets her nightly burst of “puppy power” and goes tearing around the back yard. Lol
So, you’re wondering about the other puppy. I’m sad to say we had to take her back. She had an attitude we couldn’t handle. She would get far too aggressive and every attempt at correction only resulted in her coming back at you stronger and biting harder. It would very quickly escalate to a battle of wills and the shelter had been correct when they said she could “hold her own”, because she would not quit. Even a cry of pain would garner a harder bite. After three days, we were afraid to play with her and were all covered in bite marks (she drew blood a lot). I’m positive with the right, experienced family, that dog would do exceptionally well. She was extremely intelligent. But we weren’t that family.
Well, a few days later, I was once again perusing the dogs on Petfinder when I came across another shelter here in my city (there aren’t many). And I ran across this face:
Beside the face was the listing. There was a litter of German Shepherd/Lab mix puppies and the add said to call or email them to fill out an application and have one reserved. So, I showed my husband the face and jokingly said, “look honey, isn’t she cute?” and to my complete surprise he said, “Go ahead, reserve one.” I’m telling you, there was something about that face.
Well, the following Saturday, my eleven year old, Adam, and I go down to the local Petsmart, where the shelter was bringing the dogs. There were nine puppies in all, three girls and six boys. We were seventh in line, which meant there was supposed to be six people ahead of us, who all got first choice before we could get ours.
As an aside, I was okay with that. I'm a firm believer in Fate and something in my gut kept telling me it didn't matter when we got there--our dog was in those puppies and even if we were last, we would end up with the one that was right for us.
Well, three people didn’t show up, so by the time we’d gotten there, nobody had chosen any of the girls. Two of them were sleeping, and one was sticking her nose through the bars trying to get at the people (to lick em to death, of course). I had no idea which puppy was the one from the picture, and wasn’t sure it mattered. So we set about picking the one we wanted.
I was drawn to one in particular. She had a dark nose and a black stripe down her back, reminiscent of the Shepherd in her, that I really liked the look of. She was sleeping the entire time we were there. In fact, when our turn came and we decided to look at her, the man had to practically climb into the cage to get her out she was so relaxed.
And that’s when I fell in love. This little girl crawled up in my arms, licked my face, then laid her head on my shoulder. I just knew. It's so cliche, but it really was “that” moment. Those of you with dogs will likely understand what I mean. It’s that moment you fall head over heels in love and that “I have to have this dog” overwhelms you. I knew right then she was coming home with me. I'd found my dog.
It’s been that way ever since. She is such a cuddler. She wants to be wherever you’re at, which means that yes, she sleeps in the bed with us. We weren’t sure about crate training, so the first two nights we kept her in the kitchen (and were up every two hours). The third night, we were exhausted. Hubby goes to the kitchen to quiet her down and comes back with her. I’m telling you, some day, this dog is going to be a seventy or eighty pound lap dog. Lol
We are all in love with her, though. She chews everything in sight and is currently attempting to find out if you really can dig a hole to China in the backyard (something we're hoping the puppy education class we're in can help us with), but she is such a lover and will quite happily sit beside you on the couch and let you rub her belly. Even potty training is going well. She “gets” it and has not had an accident in the house in three days. AND...she sleeps through the night now.
We’re coming to find out she’s very friendly, loves people and dogs alike. In puppy education class yesterday she initiated play with a German Shepherd puppy three times her size. She was fearless! So long as she was doing so from under our stool. Lol
So, we’ve found the newest member of our family, and this one is here to stay. As you can see, she’s making herself right at home.
Oh. I forgot to mention the Twilight Zone moment. As I was filling out the paper work the day we got her, the man from the shelter casually mentions to me that the puppy I picked out (whom they had named "feeper", of all names) was the puppy from the picture on the website. How's that for weird?
Sunday, July 10, 2011
Six Sentence Sunday
Hey there! Thank to those of you who came by and commented last week. The encouragement is always appreciated. Will post a few more snippets from the same scene. I'm cheating again. It's a bit more than six, but the snippet doesn't feel complete without the last paragraph. This one doesn't quite pick up where the other one left off. I skipped ahead a paragraph.
Also, for those who don't read every week, a bit of backstory: Alex and Angela grew up together. He's three years older and her older brother's best friend. According to Alex, Angela ought to be off limits. He knows about her, through her brother, but hasn't actually seen her in twenty years. So when he runs across her in a nightclub where she works as a stripper, he doesn't recognize her. Until last week's snippet, which is here.
Drawing in a deep breath, she forced herself to look up at him. He deserved that much. “When did you figure it out?”
“When you called me A.J.” Despite the irritation in his voice, desire flared in his eyes, sending her stomach fluttering in response.
Heat crept into her cheeks, warming her face. “I’m sorry. It just…slipped out. It’s been very difficult to remember to call you Alex. I still want to call you A.J.”
thanks again for stopping by! I look forward to seeing everybody's snippets! If you'd like read others or would like to join in, visit the SSS website here.
Also, for those who don't read every week, a bit of backstory: Alex and Angela grew up together. He's three years older and her older brother's best friend. According to Alex, Angela ought to be off limits. He knows about her, through her brother, but hasn't actually seen her in twenty years. So when he runs across her in a nightclub where she works as a stripper, he doesn't recognize her. Until last week's snippet, which is here.
Drawing in a deep breath, she forced herself to look up at him. He deserved that much. “When did you figure it out?”
“When you called me A.J.” Despite the irritation in his voice, desire flared in his eyes, sending her stomach fluttering in response.
Heat crept into her cheeks, warming her face. “I’m sorry. It just…slipped out. It’s been very difficult to remember to call you Alex. I still want to call you A.J.”
thanks again for stopping by! I look forward to seeing everybody's snippets! If you'd like read others or would like to join in, visit the SSS website here.
Sunday, July 3, 2011
Six Sentence Sunday
Another Sunday, another Six Sentence Sunday. Thanks to everybody who comes to visit me and thanks for the encouragement. Means a lot. This snippet once again continues from last week. We're in Angela's POV now.
There it was. The moment she’d dreaded.
Angela squeezed her eyes shut, her stomach churning. Alex had asked the one question that had left her caught for days now, caught between that deep, secret yearning for him to know it was her, and the terrifying reality that if he knew, he likely wouldn’t want her at all.
He sat up and pulled away from her, staring down at her with eyes full of disbelief and pained accusation. “Please tell me you’re not that Angela.”
Thanks again for stopping by! If you'd like to read the other fabulous SSS contributions, go here.
There it was. The moment she’d dreaded.
Angela squeezed her eyes shut, her stomach churning. Alex had asked the one question that had left her caught for days now, caught between that deep, secret yearning for him to know it was her, and the terrifying reality that if he knew, he likely wouldn’t want her at all.
He sat up and pulled away from her, staring down at her with eyes full of disbelief and pained accusation. “Please tell me you’re not that Angela.”
Thanks again for stopping by! If you'd like to read the other fabulous SSS contributions, go here.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)