Archive | August 2005

Pulling Teeth

I’ve been working on a story for the past week or so, nothing new, actually something quite old. It had been originally intended for Glamour Girls: Femme/Femme Erotica, but I tossed it in favor of Dressing Desire which turned out to be a good move. I had forgotten about it until about a month ago, when I happened to open the file and realized that the story could work for an upcoming anthology.

I had such high hopes then. I didn’t particularly like the story as it was. It was too easy and predictable. Then it came to me to throw in a little twist and while I liked the new idea, it really made the story more complex than what I can handle right now. I thought I could pull if off, but I’m discovering now, slumped over my desk, head aching, eyes burning… it ain’t gonna happen. I’m just too damned tired and I feel like I’m fighting with the plot and the characters just aren’t behaving and…

Ah to hell with it. Ce sera sera, right?

Unless I have some sort of middle of the night epiphany or by some crazy stroke of luck there is a deadline extension, I think I’m going to have to pass on this one. I need to show some attention to the MILF story anyway.

And just when I had spoken so highly of my muse…

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Katrina

Many thoughts and prayers go out to those in New Orleans and the surrounding areas affected by this terrible storm.

You Can’t Make This Stuff Up

I can really appreciate a post like Devon’s on Saturday, where she talks about two of her newest characters persistence in getting her to write their stories. Finally, finally I thought, someone so accurately put into words what I’ve been unable to. It’s mostly because sometimes it’s hard for even me to believe and also that I don’t know how to explain it to anyone who is not a writer, who hasn’t experienced this themselves, without the fear of sounding absolutely insane.

Most times I don’t talk about my process, how the stories show themselves to me, how the characters show up in my head and start mouthing off. I said to the husband just the other day, “I don’t make up stories. I can’t. The stories come and I write them down.”

I’ve been lucky in this regard. It’s good that I don’t have to sit down and purge a story for lord knows the few times I did go that route were disastrous.

See, I believe that characters and stories choose their writers. They may not always be pushy about it. They may not always be sassy or persistant. But, I am thankful that mine choose me. They do not always choose the most convenient times but I try not to be grumpy when they arrive. After all, I know I’m lucky they came to me and not someone else. They could have easily landed in some other writer’s lap.

I remember reading an essay from Alice Walker’s collection, In Search Of Our Mother’s Gardens. In it she talked about the writing of The Color Purple, how Celie, Sophia and others came to her and wouldn’t leave until she finished their story. The first time I read it I was quite young, probably not even twenty and I hadn’t yet come into myself as a writer and certainly hadn’t been lucky enough to have the experience myself.

Now I can echo it. Now I can revel in the fact that even if this isn’t creative process at all, even if I am just crazy… I’m not the only one.

Hello Hangover.

I’ve learned that the drunken email has apparently replaced the drunken phone call these days.

I’ve also learned that no one takes pity on you when you’re drunk.

No one.

I went out with my friend K. last night. Had way too much to drink I’m realizing now.

Crawled into bed just after 4 am.

Had to be at work at 7. Luckily I work from home. Needless to say, I am full taking advantage of being able to work in my underwear. I’m quite sure I have vodka seeping out of my pores.

Husband is supposed to be watching the kids while I work, yet they’re barging in, screwing with the tape dispenser, playing with the mouse and closing programs, shutting the PC off.

He is amused by all this, stands over my shoulder saying things like, “You know you’re not a drinker, babe. You’ve never been.”

And I know this already.

But every now and then I get this idea that I’m invincible.

My mother is somewhat sympathetic. She will be here within the hour to relieve me of my motherly duties for the day. Bless her.

I remember reading somewhere how Stephen King wrote entire novels while drunk off his ass. I shudder to think what I would have come up with even if I had been able to prop myself up at the desk to write something.

Only thing I can think to type right now is: I am never drinking again. I am never drinking again. I. Am. Never. Drinking. Again.

Good day.

Coulda. Woulda. Shoulda.

I’m suffering from writer’s remorse. I saw some publicity on a project I had an opportunity to be a part of. And the reason I ended up not being a part of it is no one’s fault but my own. It was classic me blowing shit off until the very last minute.

I had been playing around with the story for weeks and for reasons that didn’t matter then and certainly don’t matter now, I got a late start on the actual writing, thereby not giving it the attention it deserved. So, I turned the story in half-assed – which is almost worse than turning in nothing at all – and of course, it was kindly rejected.

The actual rejection took place months ago and I was fine with it. A part of me had expected it because I knew I hadn’t put my best foot forward. And it was actually one of the most thoughtful and encouraging rejections I had ever received. But now, actually seeing the project rapidly coming to life and thinking to myself, “wow, I could have been a part of that…” well, it’s got me kind of down.

And I’m stubborn. I don’t like to give into or admit these feelings, but when the husband came home today and instantly knew something was bothering me, I disclosed the real reason I was in such a shitty mood. No, it wasn’t the kids. No, it wasn’t the crappy yard work we got royally screwed on. It was a missed publishing opportunity plain and simple.

I told him about it, told him how I threw something together really quick and sent it in. And what did he say? “You really need to stop waiting until the last minute, babe.”

Like I don’t know that. Like I really needed to hear that from him.

This has happened before, a few years ago when I thought I had my very first sale. The story was accepted by the editor and ultimately cut at the publisher’s. A few months later, I was browsing a bookstore and saw the book on the shelf and just wanted to throw myself out a freakin’ window.

Coulda. Woulda. Shoulda.

Needless to say, I’m a little outdone with myself. And I’m allowed. But I’m okay, really. It’s nothing a glass of Riesling and a marathon of Being Bobby Brown won’t cure.

Body, Meet Exercise

Why do they design working out so that it feels great when you’re in the midst of it, then the next day… oh the next day, you regret even thinking about it??

I thought it was a bright idea to begin my fall workout regimen yesterday. Yes, unlike everyone else who tries to get fit for summer, I’m getting ready for winter when there are banquets and stuff to attend that require new dresses, when there are holidays I need to get a leg up on so I don’t feel guilty about eating.

I have gotten down to my ideal size from weight loss earlier in the year, but I could stand to lose more and to tone here and there. And also, as I’ve turned a year older, I’ve noticed the old bones cracking and aching a bit more than usual. So no, a bit of exercise wouldn’t kill me.

I did fifteen minutes of hard cardio on the glide machine I’ve had for years that is currently propped up against my desk. I even got down on the floor and did a few sit-ups. It was only 30 minutes, but I worked up quite a sweat (as I am just that out of shape) and I actually felt pretty good afterwords. Now today, my shoulders, back and belly are burning and the last thing I want to do is work out again.

But I know I must be consistent. I figure the five hours I spent walking around at my 2nd job should suffice for today. Tomorrow, intentional exercise and maybe the ache will somehow disappear.

Erotic Authors Association

Erotic romance author Marilyn Jaye Lewis announced today the relaunch of the Erotic Authors Association.

The site lists erotic authors and links to their websites and blogs and lists their current projects and special announcements. I recently joined myself but my new release page only houses one cover for now – Naughty Spanking Stories From A to Z which contains my story, Bend – as that has been my only publication since Fall 2004. Wow, 2005 really wasn’t my year, was it? That will soon change, though, with the release of three anthologies featuring my work in early 2006. Come on 2006!

Be sure to hop over and give it a look!