Archive for February, 2008

Emotionally Speaking

Friday, February 29th, 2008

When I’m not sitting behind my keyboard, or helping my eight year old with vocabulary words, I most likely can be found in the operating room. Just like any of you, there are some things I enjoy about my job better than others. I chose nursing as a career for the same reason I want to be a writer. I love the emotional aspect of both professions. In nursing I love bonding with my patients in the preoperative area before I take them back to surgery. Most of the time my patients never remember who I am because they are sedated before they ever see me. It doesn’t matter to me that I’m usually never named on a patient survey as a nurse who delivered quality care. It’s rewarding enough to know that I reduced their anxiety before they drift off to sleep. A little gesture such as holding their hand, or telling them that I will be with them during the entire surgery is enough to alleviate a lot of the anxiety that they experience. I treat my patients the way I would want to be treated.

The same applies to my writing. I write what I like to read. I love books that include emotional scenes that grip the heart. I give the best of me to my readers. I love writing emotion and I want it to be evident in my writing. As writers we all deliver with pride, what we do best. It doesn’t matter if what we write well, is humor, suspense, erotica, or inspiration, we excel when we are in our element. In these moments the words flow, and you become one with the keyboard.

Movie directors use actors to create a scene that provokes the most emotion for viewers. With one touch, one expression, or one tear, they can tell the story without dialogue. As writers we don’t have the liberty of cinematography, but we do have the beauty of words. If we do our job well, we can produce just as much of an impact, and possibly more than a director on a movie set.

Even though I will never be a real movie director, in my world I direct my character’s actions on the page. I’m as happy as a pig in mud when I’m knee deep in emotion and angst. There’s something about creating a scene that can evoke emotion, and make your readers want to either throw the book across the room, or grab the nearest Kleenex. To me it gives the story substance, instead of a plain cheese pizza it’s like ordering a meaty supreme.

Here’s a slice of my pie…

He was everything in a man I didn’t need, but like a pair of designer shoes-he was addictive.

He took a step toward me and I totally expected him to kiss me, but he stopped a millimeter away from my lips.

“I’m not sleeping on the couch tonight. I want to keep an eye on the outside, in case you have a visitor.”

I nodded and willed him to step away before I made a fool of myself. I was tired of being strong. Tonight I needed his strength and he had more than enough to give. It didn’t matter if he was on the couch or in my bed.

I needed him.

I leaned forward and rested my forehead on his lips. His hands skimmed up my arms and into the hair at the base of my neck.

“You okay?” He asked.

I pulled away and looked into his steel blue eyes. “I’m good.”

He nodded, and walked away. He reached the door and turned to look at me. “Call me if there’s a problem.”

The door clicked shut behind him and I was alone. I didn’t know what scared me the most, the stalker getting to me, or starting to feel dependent on Maverick. I clicked off the lamp next to the couch, walked over to the window, and pulled the curtain back. I saw him slip inside his truck and flash his lights. I slowly stepped away from the window, and let the curtain trail through my fingers.

I swallowed the emotion lumped in my throat. For the first time in my life I felt vulnerable, and I didn’t like it. My life was compartmentalized and this was screwing with the system. I looked at the sheets tucked perfectly on the couch, topped with a pristine white pillow. I walked over and sat down, closed my eyes, and leaned my head back against the cushion. I inhaled and caught the clean, all male scent of Maverick on the sheets.

A tear slipped out of the corner of my eye, and I let it go.

Do you like writing or reading emotion the best? If you don’t like writing emotion, what do you feel you write well?

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On the Road Again

Wednesday, February 27th, 2008

I tell you- there is nothing like a vacation in the winter. Take it from me. After four months of total crap weather, a girl needs to get away before she withers into winter’s deep dark depression.

I always get a little stir crazy come February. Tis true that I’m ruled by Jupiter and like to roam about the country a bit, but there is something about knowing spring is right around the corner. I’m showing the impatience of my zodiac sign.

So to curb this impatience, I just feed it some spring like weather and hightail it to Phoenix (Arizona) for a week every February. In the winter, I can understand why my family feels the need to live in the desert. Cold to them is 60 degrees in the sunshine. Cold to me is… well, like living in the Arctic Circle where it never stops snowing and never shows the sunshine.

This year I resolved to do a bit of work while motoring around the busy streets of Phoenix and the surrounding suburbs. I already know my way about. I know which streets to take, which ones to avoid. What areas are popular and what are not. I know where the best places to eat are. I know the highways. But do I really know the “heart” of this city I’d like to write a series? No. Not really at all.

I love to people watch. I love to experience a city just by wandering around casually and stumbling onto everything day life. Listen to the sounds. Smell the atmosphere. There is something that’s inspiring about a city you know nothing about. So for a couple of days instead of playing the vacationer, I played the resident. I did nothing but what my normal routine would be back home. I got up. Early. Slipped my glasses on and went in search of coffee (which I had to make). Took my coffee to the shower (but did NOT drink it in the shower. Gimme some credit wenches.) Did my normal top secret bathroom routine, which includes many layers of war paint. Turned on the TV in search of the local news to scope out the traffic and on which roads. Jotted down notes on scenes I could possibly see. Motored out to the rental and took a drive. I had to experience traffic. City traffic. (Gotta tell you Hellion, I think we’ve got them beat.) And went back to the house. This is where my routine gets a little screwy because I wasn’t working. But I was thinking about what my heroine would be doing. That was fun. Can’t tell you though, top secret and all that jazz.

At night, I’d go for a run in the neighborhood. Since I was staying with my grandmother, it was safe to be on the street at 8pm. I took in the palm trees framed by the twinkling stars in the vast desert skyline. The way the mountains were framed in the distance and the streetlamps gave them an eerie glow. The way the cold mountain breeze rustled through the orange tress. The smell of flowers blooming, fresh cut grass, dirty water rushing from lawns and into the street. There is something calming about the night here. Things are not rushed. It’s almost peaceful. Border line relaxing once the sun falls behind the mountain peaks. And then I knew, while running down a dark, quiet street with the streetlamp coming up on my right, the dry culvert running through the side street just ahead of me, that this was the right place to start my next series. The city is almost schizophrenic in its ability to completely make a 180 from sunrise to sunset. And that’s what makes a great city to write about. The ability to draw the reader in (even if you have to fudge a bit to get it quite right) it still has the outline to which you base every scene on.

So my question today: Have you ever traveled to check out a city you wanted to base your WIP from? Fictional or fact, it doesn’t matter. We all choose location for a reason, so what was your deciding factor? Readers, does it thrill you to read a book and know the city or does it do nothing for you?

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Leslie Langtry the Assassin Boards the Romance Writer’s Revenge

Tuesday, February 26th, 2008

Hellion: Hello, Leslie, and welcome aboard the Romance Writer’s Revenge. *much shouting and rambunctious cheering from grog-warmed crew and passengers; Hellion stun guns Sin who rushes up for an autograph* I said after the interview, Sin. I’m so sorry, Leslie, the ship has been abuzz since I’ve told them you agreed to this interview. This is a huge opportunity!

Leslie *not looking the least concerned*: Can I have some of that? *pointing to the grog*

Hellion: *handing her grog as she barrels on* I mean, when you said you’d answer any question, I suddenly realized I’d get to find out which of the Bombays did in JFK. I’m very curious who the shooter on the grassy knoll was. I’m hedging my bets that it was Virginia, since she was later picked off. So am I right? And are the Bombays primarily Republican or Democrat…or do they play the wild card and vote Independent? How will they be voting this November, you think?

Leslie: *blank-faced* Sorry. That information is classified. The Bombays made me take the blood oath too. As far as politics, they are split. Liv and Gin are obviously liberals. Dak is more or less apathetic, I’m afraid. Paris plays things close to the vest and all Carolina can think about is getting more grandchildren. If one of the parties introduces that as a platform - she’s likely to vote for them.

Hellion: That Dak! *giggling, clearly crushing on a completely fictional character* Okay, now, I suppose we should probably explain what you write about to those who haven’t read your books yet. You write a mystery-romantic series of books about a family of assassins. The first one was about Gin Bombay, a mom just like you or the Boatswain, trying to make ends meet and get that monkey off her back by the name of Vivian the PTA Nazi—and oops, Gin happens to also be an assassin. Cue chaos and laughter. How did you come up with this series? And what’s been the most fun about writing this series so far?

Leslie: I was writing a completely different warped novel when I had a dream about the Bombays. The name Gin Bombay popped up and the whole family wouldn’t shut up so I had to sit down and write about them. I think the bizarre situations are my favorite things to write. I love tormenting my characters. I guess I have a little pirate in me.

Hellion: *roguish look* Don’t we all? Do you find the cat-o-nines particularly effective on unwilling characters? No? Oh, sorry, pressing on. I’m particularly amused by the dating problems Gin had in the first book. It is Karma times ten when she meets the man of her dreams, and he happens to be the bodyguard of the guy she has to kill. I know you say repeatedly that none of this stuff is based off your real life; however, Gin manages a Girl Scout troop; and coincidentally, so do you. Gin lives in the Midwest; coincidentally, so do you. Gin is married to a hot Aussie-former bodyguard…tell the truth, you are too, aren’t you?

Leslie: You got me! It’s true - I live in the Midwest, have a Girl Scout troop and am married to a Bodyguard. He’s not Australian though. That would be pretty hot. I guess it’s true you draw upon what you know and some of these situations may have actually happened (the part about the Girl Scout training is 100% accurate - right down to the video) but I am not training my girl scouts to be killers. Although it was funny that at a Pampered Chef party, the leader of the local boy scout troop said she was afraid of my girl scouts so maybe there’s something there. *looks thoughtful, then hopeful* Is there a merit badge for piracy?

Hellion: Not yet, but we’re making some to distribute at conferences. Like a Jolly Roger with writing quills. *poked by Boatswain* Never mind. Are you going to RWA this year? Will you be doing a book signing? Do you do book signings in Missouri? Any plans to do so?

Leslie: Not a firm believer in transitions, are you?

Hellion: No, no, I’m very focused. Look, an undead monkey. *uses her gun to shoot monkey, which immediately bounds back to life and starts eating another banana*

Leslie: I LOVE undead monkeys! I will be in San Francisco for the book signing at RWA and I’m signing in Chicago at the Spring Fling conference. I don’t have anything lined up in Missouri but that’s just because I’m lazy.

Hellion: Damn, I knew I shouldn’t have changed my plans about the Spring Fling! I’ve got to start pirating more. *shakes head* Guns Will Keep Us Together hit the shelves just last month (and incidentally flew immediately into my cart and came home with me), and features Gin’s brother, Dakota Bombay, a complete and total hottie with great hair. I have to ask this very important question about Dak—which hair gel was discontinued that he misses so much? What is he using now?

Leslie: Well, Dak goes with the big ticket items. It’s something he can only order off Sephora (which he probably wouldn’t like me telling you). It was an extremely traumatic time in his life. I can’t say what he uses now - but would be shamelessly open to endorsements (Hello, PRADA?).

Hellion: You really are a pirate. *laughs* It seemed in Gin’s book (and this may be totally wrong), but Gin seemed slightly less klutzy than Dak. Am I wrong in this assumption—do women make cleaner hitmen, you think? I remember thinking in the first book, Dak seemed so suave, so…smooth, but in reality, he’s rather (adorably) goofy.

Leslie: Of course, women are far more lethal than men. Look at the pirates Anne Bonney and Mary Read, who staved off an attack while Calico Jack and the others huddled below decks. History doesn’t lie!

Hellion: Very true. And when he went to hang, she said, “If you had fought like a man, you wouldn’t have had to die like a dog.”

Leslie: I prove my point. As far as Dak, he looked so suave in ‘Scuse Me While I Kill This Guy because he was only a superficial character. Once he had his own book, we got to see him in an average setting - and everyone looks goofy in an average setting. I’d like to tell you I’m writing this while wearing haute couture but instead I’m wearing sock monkey jammies.

Hellion: *tsking* Looking the part of a pirate is very important. *hiding her I Love Jack Sparrow pjs beneath her coat* Never mind, moving on. Also in this book, you brought back a family favorite: Coney Island, the carny. Now this philosophical showman was funny in the first book, but he really brings something to this book. Okay, maybe that’s because you described him as a Daniel Craig and therefore every time he made it onto the page, I wanted to peel off an article of clothing, preferably his…but I was curious: will he be playing a more central part soon? Say his own book, where he gets to be all philosophical and hopefully occasionally naked? And more importantly, do you suppose I could have a role in that naked part? *jabbed in the ribs by the Boatswain* What? Have you seen Daniel Craig?

Leslie: Book 4 - which I’m currently working on - is all about the Conester. And yes, he’s totally hot. As for the loofah scene, I think I’d be more partial to having you oil him up as a gladiator or something like that. Anyway, I’m having fun with it. He has a much dryer sense of humor than the other Bombays so I’m trying out two points of view in this book - the other being the heroine.

Hellion: Oil, loofah, I’m totally flexible—you don’t mind telling Coney that, do you? *poked yet again in the ribs by Boatswain* Right. Oh, yes, your third book in the series is about Missi, who has the fun task of creating toys for all the assassins. What’s her book going to be about? Can you tell us? And her sons are about to come of age where they will do their first kill, aren’t they? Will that play a part?

Leslie: Actually, the boys had their first professional kills at 15. Missi’s book takes place on a cheap, Canadian rip-off of Survivor. The boys help her out, but are secondary characters. I imagine they will have their own book someday.

Hellion: That sounds fun! I am so excited about this book…and Coney’s book. Okay, okay, last question, and I’ll let you go back to that important task of writing Coney’s book…and putting in that scene where I get to loofah, oil, whatever him. *jabbed again* What? I am serious. Fine. What’s the single most important thing you think new writers should keep in mind when they’re trying to push through and finish their books?

Leslie: Just get it done. And if you don’t like it - move on to the next book until you nail it. Gin’s book was my fourth full manuscript and I learned a lot from the first three (but I’d rather walk the plank than ever see them in print) but I knew with Gin’s book that this was it.

Hellion: *looks at crew* Look, she subscribes to the “As IF” mentality. Imagine that. *tries not to look smug, fails* Okay, okay, I’ll stop hogging the interview now. *trampled by Sin* Leslie, I think you’ve been an excellent interrogatee, um, guest pirate—and I suppose I should give my crew an opportunity to ask you some questions. Crew?

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The Best Pirate Birthday Party EVER!!!!

Monday, February 25th, 2008

It’s a day of celebration here on The Romance Writer’s Revenge – we’re raising our mugs and dropping streamers from the Crow’s Nest in honor of our Captain’s Birthday! And this isn’t just any birthday, this is her 21st Birthday.

*silence falls over the ship as everyone turns to Boatswain in confusion*

Go with it, girls. She’s not taking the age thing well and unless you want her screaming “GET OUT OF MY PERSONAL SPACE” you’ll follow my lead. Yes, I’ve seen her scream this, it’s not pretty.

Now, let’s get this party started. *cues AC/DC music* No party worth it’s Tequila salt would forget the food. All the Captain’s favorites are on the menu.

The bar is always open on the top deck but today we’ve stocked it with plenty to go round. We have the scotch, the beer, and of course plenty of rum.

And we would never have a party without bringing out the Hotties. This one showed up in full black tie but he made the mistake of getting a little too close to the party girl. The poor fellow.

These Hotties are here to handle crowd control. I know a crowd like this would never do anything that would make these boys have to take you below decks for a little talking to…. *eye roll* Just don’t hurt them, ok?
And we couldn’t possibly have a party for the Captain without Jack. Ah, now here’s a man that can shiver me timbers any day!

So gather round the decks, bring your presents, raise a toast and help us celebrate Captain Hellion’s 21st Birthday!!!!

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Captain Jack Says….

Sunday, February 24th, 2008

Ahoy, avast.

Nah, that’s too overdone, and definitely something that boy would have said. (I still can’t believe he has his own ship.) Still, the red-haired lass has right nice digs. It still has that new ship smell, it does, like dead fish and shit brine. The bed is very nice, though covered perhaps in too many pillows. (What is it with women and pillows?)

Even the other lassies on board have fine digs, though they haven’t exactly given me much access to them. Something about fearin’ repercussions of the Captain, they says. I don’t know what they’re goin’ on about. The Captain has been nothing but roses and sunshine to me. I think they’re simply overwhelmed by my masculine attributes and don’t trust themselves with me.

Since I have to spend so much time in the lass’ cabin (her cabin boy, she says; me, a cabin boy? what is the world coming to?), I have noticed her walls are lined with rows of books. Not my normal activity of choice, if you catch my drift, but I have found that these aren’t your ordinary tomes. No Cotton Mather sermons or Alexander Pope couplets here. Since I have so much time on my hands, I though I’d use this space to review books for your edification. (That’s right: Ed-i-fi-ca-shun.)

Starting in a couple weeks, of course. I’m busy right now. With a certain redhead…and a couple bottles of rum

It’s good to be a pirate.

Posted in Captain's Quarters (Hellion) | 4 Comments »

Hottie Crew Member of the Week

Sunday, February 24th, 2008

I’ve been a bit under the weather for about two weeks which resulted in the food supplies here upon The Revenge running down to a box of saltines and a jar of Ragu. There’s always plenty of rum but that’s still not enough to sustain the entire crew, especially since we keep adding these hotties and they keep barking for more protein. Anyhoo, this meant a trip to the pirate grocery store – or in other words – the Tortuga Wal-Mart.

Two important things happened while on this little excursion. First, I bought a couple pairs of jeans in a size LARGER than I’ve had to buy in about five years. Yes, very depressing. BUT, as if this wasn’t bad enough, upon turning the corner out of the jeans section I come face to face with the most dreaded rack in the history of racks. Yes, even worse than THE racks back in the day. What I saw was…..bathing suits.

Oh yes, my friend, it’s almost that time again. It may not seem like it what with temps in many places barely topping the zero mark and everyone either buried under snow or busting their asses on sheets of ice. I’m sure you can imagine my horror at having these two horrible events happen back to back. I started to panic, my breath grew thready (what the hell does that mean?) and I broke out in a cold sweat. What ever will I do?!?!

And then the answered came to me as if in a dream. (And if I’m lucky, he will come back to me in my dreams for days to come.) We need a trainer on this ship. Someone who will not only work our asses into shape but motivate and inspire us to push ourselves. To give it everything we have and then give it even more. To make us want to work out and sweat and use muscles many of us haven’t used in years. I give you, Pirate Trainer Jake.


Now that I have your full attention, don’t forget to be here Tuesday when Leslie Langtry hops aboard The Romance Writer’s Revenge to talk about her latest book Guns Will Keep Us Together. This is the second book in her series centered around the Bombay Family. Let’s just say this family believes the family who kills together stays together. Or they kill each other but we won’t bring that up. Come along for one hilarious ride and find out everything you ever wanted to know about creating a family of assassins and writing some *killer* books about them.
Sorry, couldn’t resist. Happy Sunday and try not to drool too much into your keyboard. I’ll be booking private sessions with Jake all day so don’t everyone rush the deck at one time, ok?

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From the Eyes of a Romance Novel

Friday, February 22nd, 2008

I blinked my eyes as the light blinded me. I smiled when I realized what this meant. I was next on the shelf; the books on top of me had finally found a happy home, now it was my place to turn on the charm. I batted my eyelashes, and looked around the store. People were milling about, picking up fellow books and glancing at their pages. My heart ached as I observed the rejected expression on a little book down the shelf from me. Book Lookers, as we call them, have no idea of the self-esteem issues they provoke. One caress of our cover, one flip of our pages, can raise our hopes only to be dashed a few moments later when they place us back on the shelf. I don’t even want to discuss the psychological ramifications of being misplaced on the shelf.

I glanced toward the entrance, watching the crowd file by one by one on their way to the lingerie store next door. If they would read pages 157-161, they would get a beautiful lesson on how the lack of lingerie can benefit the single woman. Remembering the intimate scene made my cover sweat. I blew out a breath wishing I had arms to fan myself. My author had out done herself this time. Her heroine and hero were perfectly matched, sure, they fought tooth and nail to avoid their attraction, but their love was undeniable. What reader doesn’t love angst and a huge happily ever after?

I saw a young woman make a beeline into the store, heading straight for me. I held my breath as she scanned the shelves. Her eyes lit up when she saw me, and it took everything I had not to ruffle my pages when she picked me off the shelf. I could see the excitement in her eyes when she turned me over and read the back of my cover. She sighed and I wanted to wet my binder. She carried me over to the check out counter, and handed me to the clerk.
“Oh you’re going to love this one. I think this is her best book yet.” Of course I am, was there any question?

“I can’t wait to read it. I’ve heard once you start it you can’t put it down.” Now wait a minute, I belong to the book union and I’m entitled to my breaks, especially after you read pages 157-161. Can you say cigarette?

The clerk placed me in a bag, and I was in total darkness once again. After a long dull ride in the sack, I was once again resurrected. My new owner, I’m going to call her Alice, took me out of the bag and placed me on a table near her bed. She promptly walked out of the room, and left me destitute and unread. How could this be? I’m a best seller. I wallowed in my disappointment, craving for my pages to be turned.

I don’t know how much time had passed when I felt myself floating through the air. I opened one eye and saw Alice climbing into bed with me in her hand. Yippee! It’s my time to shine. She opened my cover and began to read. She proved to be an interesting reader. She smiled and giggled in all the appropriate places, but something really bothered me about her. She made the cardinal sin of eating while reading. I was appalled by this behavior. I didn’t want my lovely pages marred with the grease from her fingertips. It wasn’t a pretty sight, from my vantage point. Every time she turned a page she stuffed a massive hand of popcorn in her mouth, does this mean there’s a movie deal in my future?

When she reached page 157, sweat beaded on her upper lip. She pushed her hair off her forehead and clamped her knees together. She reached for her phone on the nightstand and hit speed dial. Someone must have answered because she began to speak.

“Hi Baby, whatcha wearing?” Oh hell no.

She giggled and dog-eared one of my pages before she closed me. She had just committed the second cardinal sin. Never do you dog-ear a page in a book; it’s a slap in the cover. Then I witnessed a blatant display of plagiarism. She recited verbatim what she wanted to do to her phone friend just as it was written on my pages.

“Oh baby it would feel so good.” Ninety-nine bottles of beer on the wall… ninety-nine bottles of beer.

Finally, she hung up the phone and picked me up. She read me for four hours straight and finally finished me. When she closed my cover, she sighed and wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. I made water works! She lovingly placed me on the nightstand and flipped out the light.
“You are the best book I’ve ever read.”

I felt my pages swell with pride. It was so obvious, I had her from the moment she touched my cover.
Can you tell I had no idea what to blog about? What are some of your favorite books that made you sigh when you closed the cover? Do you ever dog-ear your book pages?

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To Goal or Not to Goal, That is the Question…

Thursday, February 21st, 2008

Though I am sure to be met with much chagrin from my pantsing comrades here aboard the boat, I have devised a goal spreadsheet of sort. A kind of time line in which I determine where I should be in my writing and how many pages I want to write a week, then how long total it should take me to write my book and sort of a tentative completion date.
May 25. That’s my completion date.
I see that you’re skeptical. If you think you’re skeptical, let me clue you in on the little conversation I had with myself over this date.
*GM cues the lights and allows her multiple personalities free rein aboard a makeshift stage on deck*

Little bitty voice: Whoooaa… huh? May 25 is really close. That’s, like, before the summer and stuff.

Calming voice: Yes, little panicky voice, that is before the summer and stuff.

Little voice escalating and becoming laced with hysteria: Well, how do you perceive we’re going to manage that?!

Calm voice again: Well, just like everything else happens, you naggy whiner. One bit at a time. It’s all mapped out here.

Little voice, now a loud obnoxious voice: Oh! I see how you are! You think this spreadsheet, with its color coding and pretty mathematical calculations, is going to help you in those moments of writer’s block sure to come?!

Calming voice, with a sigh: Um, no, I realize this is just a spreadsheet, nitpicky pain in my ass. I do know I will have to write the book myself.

*The lights return to normal and GM gives a sheepish shrug.*

I’ll spare you this part. Just imagine the amount of skirmish that would ensue if someone told the pirates on the RWR there would be no more rum. Ever. Yeah, it wasn’t pretty.

For some reason, the idea of a timeline frightens many and that includes me. Somehow, setting such goals/deadlines is more frightening than tackling the herculean task of writing a novel one page at a time with no definitive end in sight. Why is that?

I think it’s because if I miss the deadline, I could feel bad about it and lose momentum. This would jumpstart a downward spiral of declining self-esteem and loss of motivation, resulting in the imminent death of my WIP, perhaps even my writing in general. *panting in drama queen fashion*

I have thought of this, trust me.

However, I’m a procrastinator. If I don’t have deadlines, I’ll put stuff off until I can’t put it off anymore. Therefore, because no one is standing over me, expecting my completed manuscript, it gets set aside. “I’ll do it later,” I say. “I’ll work through that hard scene tomorrow,” I hedge.

Recently I realized that this was making me angry with myself. I’ve found out that I’m now that someone standing over me, expecting my completed manuscript. And the longer I put me off, the worse I feel about it.

Now, that isn’t to say that my date won’t get pushed back again. Originally, I’d set a goal to have my WIP finished by February. However, that was before changing it from a straight-up Regency to a paranormal Regency. I had to adjust. I assume that there may be more adjustments in the future. Vacations, family illnesses, etc. But, a little more accountability never hurt anyone. Or at least an attempt at accountability.

As the captain is so fond to say: this isn’t a rule, it’s more of a guideline.

How about it, wenches and pirates? How do you feel about goals/timelines/deadlines and the like? If you hate them, why?

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When One Just Isn’t Enough

Wednesday, February 20th, 2008

Sometimes it’s just a longing. A brief moment that makes all of time stand still. The way you know when to exactly look across the room. The way he makes you feel when you feel the heat of his eyes travel the length of you, going slowly from staring into your eyes all the wall down to your toes and making their way back up until he’s looking into your eyes and imagining you naked beneath his touch.

It’s the way every nerve comes alive when he walks into the room. The way your body reacts when you feel him standing behind you. Close enough to touch. Close enough to feel him. The way your next breath catches when his fingers come into contact with your skin. The warm touch of his breath along the back of your neck. The way your heart beats triple time at the thought of him kissing you. Tasting you. Backing you against the nearest wall and sliding your skirt up. The way his fingers would dance along your inner thigh. The way he would feel hard against you. Nothing but you and him. Anyway you could have him. It’s all you can think about. Your hands gliding along the smooth

But then you blink and tear your eyes away from his. Strong hands slide up your forearms. Possessing you. Marking you as his territory. You glance up and you see the look. Hero 1 knows you lust. Lusting not only for him, but for another man. He’s powerless to stop you. Wanting you to be his one and only, but you always manage to stay one step ahead of him. You touch his arm lightly. You smile up into his eyes. But the other man is within your sight, standing so when you glance over Hero 1’s shoulder, Unlikely Hero 2’s waiting. Watching you. The heat. The magnetism. The tension.

How can you have it with both men and have two totally different feelings?

He leans down to brush his lips lightly against your temple. There is just the brief skittering of butterflies low in your belly. The faint rushing of feelings that used to be so strong, but now have started to flicker like a flame that isn’t fed. There is still that tie holding you two together. But this case of lust has built itself into spontaneous combustion. It’s consumed you. When you lay your head down at night, you dream of him. Touching you. Caressing you. His mouth on yours. His hand between your thighs. The way your toes curl. The way he groans your name. The way dominates you, makes you feel again. Makes you remember that feeling. The rush. The explosion. The way his arms hold you tight. The way his fingers feel running through your hair. His lips soft and tender against your forehead.

And it all just started with a look.

It’s when you’re in the shower and the water cascades over you. It’s his fingers dancing over your skin. His mouth soft at first. Becoming more urgent. Demanding. The way the steam sucks the air from your lungs, just like the feeling you get when he’s near you. The way you can’t think. You open your mouth but the words never come to you. The way it feels so wrong, but so right. You’d do anything to be in his arms for another hour. Another minute. Another second. You can’t get enough of him. And each time he’s feeding the flame. It’s white hot between the two of you. Nothing can stop you from getting what you want.

Except for the other hero. Then it becomes a major conflict. You may not be a couple, but there is something there. Something that begs for a chance. A feeling you can’t quite figure out if you want to take a giant leap of faith on. Sacrifice and Trust. A give and a take. Is it worth it? Do you dare? Can you take that risk on just one person?

My heroine is hard to figure out. I think I might tapped into her inner struggle a little deeper. Maybe figured out a thing or two about how to make her tick. I don’t want to say I’ve got her all completely wrapped around my pinkie because she resents those remarks.

My heroine is relationship challenged. If someone gets close to her, she backs away from them. So it was only logical that I bring another hero into the mix. Someone that she was close to in another life. The life she had before her sister was murdered. Then she found another person in which she could trust. There is a balance for her trusting abilities. She picks and chooses the details from her life that she wants those closest to her to know.

So then it was only fair that once those two are established, I bring into someone else. That someone else is eventually supposed to take the place of her roommate.

But it’s not working out so well for me. At least not yet. They can’t stand each other. But I imagine by mid-book two or three they will find a common ground. After all, they have to work together. But it’s the chemistry between the two of them that will set up for the explosion. The first look. That first look of sexual tension between them. You build it up and build it up and then your hero fights you on it. Then the hero that was supposed to just be a friend, inserts himself right centrally into the integral plot line. And yet, the third hero waits on the wings of book one, watching, waiting, biding his time. He messes up. She messes up. They’ve made mistakes before. And it was together. But roomie hero won’t give up. He is the look from across the room. The look that makes you question everything you thought you knew about yourself. And just behind him, there is the work hero. Watching her. Studying her. Sizing her up. Realizing there is something more behind all the anger. Realizing there is that pull between them. He wants to walk away. But something is holding him back.

And there she is- the heroine. Looking up into the eyes of the guy she wanted with all her soul as a teenager. Finally having the chance at him and almost wanting to let it go. But she can’t. He’s her last tie. The very last thing holding her to her past. How can she let him go? She can’t quite yet. Even though she’s looking over his shoulder. The future uncertain. Her feelings all jumbled. The attraction between her and three men… it’s just overpowering. And intoxicating. Frightening.

Question of the Day: It’s not often that we write our heroines with two or more heroes. And aim for them to stick it out with the two or more heroes. So at one point do they become more than a mere plot device? When you do make them become an actual option for the heroine to choose? How do you sort it out? And if you’re a reader, do you like the more than one hero option? What turns you off the most?

PS. I’m on vacation this week and the wenches are graciously covering for me in the comments. I will try to comment later on in the day. I look forward to what you have to say!

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Into the Inferno: Where Are We Going, and Why Are We In This Handbasket?

Tuesday, February 19th, 2008

What with Lent upon us, I thought maybe we should focus on the things we should repent and do no more.

Much like the way to hell is paved with good intentions, so is the way to finishing your novel. You write up the character sketches, you answer numerous questions, and you even make a half-hearted attempt at an outline (i.e. plot.) But are you writing?

No.

You’re thinking about writing. You’re playing and practicing, but you’re not actually writing. You’re showing up for church and tossing your pennies into the collection plate, but the rest of the week, you’re drinking with the damned. (Because that’s what all writers do, of course, drink. It says so right at the very bottom of this blog with the rules.)

You circle and circle, and soon you find you’ve arrived at Hell. Welcome. Dante’s holding up that familiar sign of: Abandon all hope ye who enter here. He laughs as you point to your notebook with your notes and outlines and plans. It doesn’t matter. You’re fully fettered into Writer’s Hell, my friend, and one or more of these grievous sins is probably what landed you here.

Circle 1: Limbo. You landed here because you didn’t know any better. Not an excuse—you’re still in hell. Read up on craft and read up on your genre—and read up period. Reading will by virtue make you a better writer. You won’t be able to help yourself.

Circle 2: Lust. Your lack of commitment because everything looks like it’d be fun to write leaves you clacking about aimlessly. Saddle a horse and ride it already. A stable of thoroughbreds isn’t going to do you any good if you don’t ride one across the finish line once in a while.

Circle 3: Gluttony. You think you need more and more research books and websites and historical tidbits and facts. If you use 1/100th of all the stuff you’ve researched, you’d have a tome to rival War and Peace. There is such thing as too much research. After a point, you’re doing it to avoid writing and we all know it.

Circle 4: Greed. Stop hoarding. Don’t save it for your next book—this book deserves all you have to give it, and frankly, you might not get a next book if you don’t make this one worth reading. And while you’re at it, help fellow writers around you. If you have a skill, share it. If you find something that was of use to you, share it with the community. The next Julie Garwood will remember you.

Circle 5: Anger & Sloth. Don’t hate them because they’re published; and don’t think writing is about eating bon-bons and substituting hair and eye color for the same old book. (All romances are the same, right? Wrong.) Writing is work; it’s why so few people actually do it. Stop being cranky and get off the couch and write it already.

Circle 6: Heresy. Don’t betray your reader’s trust. Don’t promise them a Happily Ever After, then kill off one of your protagonists or have them end up divorced, on welfare, selling their kids for crack. Sure, it probably exists in the world, but it’s not why the reader picked up your romance novel. Genre fiction makes a promise: the good guys get rewarded for their virtue; bad guys get their comeuppance; the puppy is saved from the burning building. Don’t betray the trust.

Circle 7: Suicides. This is the circle where self-destructive people live. What are the big sins here? Giving up, deleting your stories/chapters because you don’t like them, and trashing other writers to make yourself look better. Exactly what’s the benefit of doing any of these things?

Circle 8: Liars. Liar, liar, pants on fire. We’ve already established the reader trust. This one is: Don’t lie to yourself. It just starts a vicious circle. And lying to the editor you can finish something in X amount of time, when clearly you’ve never finished anything, not even pie, in that amount of time only gives you an overwhelming sense of failure—and leads you to the 7th Circle. You run a marathon by training for it, not by just signing up to do it and showing up on race day.

Circle 9: Betrayers. Traitors still get executed. You’ll notice the trend about hating those who betray us, and in the deepest circle of writing hell resides those who betrayed us the deepest: those who sell out and write “jets of warmth pooled between her flaming thighs.” Seriously, the only reason the fire department will be coming to my house for this line is because I set that book on fire in my front yard! Shoot for some originality, guys. Don’t think just because a hundred books before you have jetting pools of warmth, you should do so too so you can get the big money. You might, by some miracle, get published, but it won’t get you respect. Don’t give us the cliche–offer us something unique, something that touches us. Give us the Awe Factor. (You won’t be doing that with “His eyes were glued to her nipples.” So don’t even bother with that one. Find something else.)

So what have you given up for Lent? I’m giving up circle 7 and circle 2. (I always have a problem with LUST. Damn.) Any circles that should be added to the list?

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