Scheduling

Wow, where has the time gone? Tomorrow is the last day of May. I had so many plans for the year, and it's almost half over.

I've been stuck on a WIP (my current work-in-progress), and it's important that I get it done (if only for my benefit). I keep thinking everything is great and then suddenly, it isn't so good. Why can't I always stay in that perfect muse where words just form cohesively, coherently, and with almost no will at all?

I'm a pantster, so I start with one blank page at a time, though I plan to at least outline my next novel. (Probably isn't going to happen, though).

As far as blogs go...I just can't seem to stick with any schedule and how in the world can boring ol' me find something fun to talk about? I'd love some ideas!

I have this "brainstorming" book I thought about blogging about, but I haven't even used it. I'm supposed to do it once a day, but I can't (got too many other things going on).

So what's your schedule like? What is your blog schedule like? What types of blogs do you prefer to read? What types of blogs do you think are exciting? What do you gravitate to?

It's time to revamp mine, but I'm not promising anything right now...

SARA conference

I am still excited about the SARA conference I attended yesterday. I met a lot of interesting people, including my publisher...Rhonda and RJ. They are so cool and genuine, exactly as I thought they would be. I wish I could post a picture of them posing with me, but I forgot my camera. I packed it in my bag but forgot to grab it because I was running late and afraid I would be the last one there. Ack!

I got an autographed copy of a book from Rhonda and a couple other WRP authors and I met Tamra, the cover artist who created the cover for ONE WRONG MOVE. How cool is that? Here's the cover she created:

Excerpt: Beginning of ONE WRONG MOVE

Camden Alexander squinted against the onslaught of salt water striking his face. He smacked his lips closed and gritted his teeth against the sand lodging in his gums.

Salt and sand. He was beginning to hate it.

He slithered one hand in front of him, slowly, carefully, feeling his way around the marshy dunes.

Something was wrong. Tension ran like brambles along his spine, lashing the back of his neck. The clammy heat stuck to his skin and clothing like epoxy, and not even a fresh spray of ocean air could help dissipate the goo.

No, this ocean air was putrid. Dead fish. Dead seagulls. Swarms of mosquitoes. This wasn’t the section of ocean displayed in the traveler’s brochures.

Moonlight drifted across the water. Camden used the glow that beamed across the water as his flare, keeping him grounded as he trudged on his knees through sand and cacti, praying. If Web caught him here, what would he say? How could he explain this?

He couldn’t explain it. That’s why he couldn’t be found.

"Camden," his earbud cackled. His heartbeat quickened, his nerves already chaotic. He stopped, crouching lower, as if anyone else could hear the voice in his head.

"I'm here," Camden whispered.

“Where?” Moore’s voice was edged in tension. Moore, who was back at the command post. Safe, sound and secure.

“I lost sight of Web. Where’s our backup?”

Static. Camden jiggled the earbud. Nothing.

The unmistakable smell of death struck him. Like rancid meat left out too long, or the smell of vomit festering after a week in the hot sun. Camden couldn't see. He lost sight of the moon behind a thick row of clouds and the burrow of weeds he hid in.

He put one hand in front of the other. Moved his knee, felt around on the ground. He searched for his gun and breathed a sigh of relief when he found it.

Not that it’d help him much with the mess he was in.

He butted up against something squishy and smelly.

The clouds shifted, revealing a sky full of twinkling stars and translucent beauty. It should have been a time to kick back with a woman and bask in the afterglow of love. A time to relish the warmer days of summer, run down the beach and dive into the cool splash of water, or eat cold watermelon with a frosted mug of brew.

The body on the ground was anything but beautiful.

Agent Bill Fletcher was dead.

BUY ONE WRONG MOVE NOW!

Cause for Celebration!

I just checked my word count, and I only have a little over 20,000 more words to go if I stop at the maximum preferred Wild Rose Press count. I still have a few chapters to complete; I’m not at the end yet. I have additional scenes to piece together in the chapters I’ve written, and A LOT of revisions and additions to make. All in all, 20K words shouldn’t be so hard to come by, and here I was thinking I wasn’t very far into it at all.

I’ve gotten lost in this story, which is a good thing. That’s exactly what I want my readers to feel. When things are going well for me, they go very well, but this story has been hard where I go through moments of panic thinking I can’t finish it, but then I go through moments where I feel it’s the best thing I’ve ever written.

I AM going to finish this novel, and I’m learning something along the way. Don’t push it when the words won’t come, but don’t sit and wait for them to come. Sit down and write, and usually (hopefully) it’ll happen. Yay! Don’t you writers love this feeling?

This one has also been harder because of the research. I’ll be writing and suddenly, I get to a point that requires further research and I just get stuck.

I know some writers who’d have 20K words in a day or at least a week, and I’m not one of those people, mostly because I don’t have the time. I write when I can but, unfortunately, it doesn’t happen everyday like I know it “should”. But guess what? I’m not using “should”s anymore. I am using “able”s. I should write everyday, but I am not able, so I will write whenever possible and not beat myself up over it.

I “should” fold my clothes that I washed this weekend but guess what? I’m not doing that either, because then I wouldn’t be “able” to write right now, LOL. Writing comes first (okay, second to family and unfortunately, a paying job). Food, then dishes then clothes, LOL. I won’t worry about the grass…it’s not yet up to my knees.

Loneliness

I feel like I haven't smiled for days. Between the stress of work and trying to write, I feel a little, okay a lot overwhelmed. Writing is a lonely profession even if it isn't your main profession. Sometimes I want to give up, but I never will because that would be silly, especially after coming this far. But I can't help but wonder...do other writers feel like me? Lost and alone at times, as if there is no one else out there. I live in a small town, can't make it to RWA meetings, and my only writing friendships have been formed online. I'll be at a conference in a couple of weeks where... finally!...I'll be meeting fellow writers in person!

Sometimes I feel like nobody cares, like nobody knows me, and I know it's a long process to get "noticed" but I like things to happen NOW! (Must be the Aquarius in me). I felt a little better yesterday when a family member asked me when my next book comes out. :)

My husband has a job opportunity where we will move to a much bigger town, one with more opportunities for me, and I'm really excited about it, but I have to let him make the decision on whether or not to do it. And I'm afraid he won't, because it's a new and scary experience for us both, and there's certain things he doesn't like about it. So I can't be selfish, even though it's what I want.

Sorry for the melancholy post. I'm trying to poke my head out of my cave and grab some sunshine. I think being "stuck" (in a cave, on my story, in my promotions) is starting to affect me.

On a happier note...Spiderman 3 is out today and I'm a HUGE fan! Can't wait to see it!