Pixar Movies set to Rock Music

This weekend is my parent's 40th wedding anniversary. Super awesome, I know.

To celebrate, all of my sisters, one brother-in-law, and a very spoiled-with-love 14 month old invaded my parent's house to help celebrate.

Now, I love my family to pieces. I would do anything for them, but they can get a little overwhelming at times. 

Yay for being an introvert. 

Now, if you don't know, introverts have to take time to recharge after a lot of social stimuli or we break down... or in my case, lash out and/or burst into tears. I have been working on different ways to deal with my inevitable breakdowns the last year or two and hiding with my laptop and earbuds is my go-to way to recharge on family weekends.

So, after a fun-filled day of too little sleep, family dinners, watching my nephew splash around in a totally awesome whale pool, the park, and a very short nap, I have stashed myself in the dining room with my computer and earbuds to work on one of the 5 projects that are currently sitting open on my computer waiting to be completed. 

The problem is, the seat closest to an outlet is also the one facing the T.V. in the living room so I have spent more time than I should "watching" Toy Story 3. 

Picture from JoBlo
There's a new Jason Bourne movie coming out too.
It's called Jason Bourne. Good job movie people.

I've never seen it, but it is definitely interesting set to the music of Shaman's Harvest and Five Finger Death Punch.

*Note: It's heartbreaking watching Andy get rid of his toys to any soundtrack.

*Second Note: That fuchsia bear is more of a dick than anything that color has any right to be.

But I am sad to report that, even after being hounded by my sister all weekend about finishing the novel that I am no where near being done with, that "alone time" resulted in very little actual writing.

Damn ADD.

Oh, look! a chicken!

Picture from BackYard Chickens
And I am fabulous, thank you very much!

The Struggle is Real

For the last two weeks or so, I've been struggling with probably the second worst problem a writer will encounter.

I have hardly written anything and I wish I was only talking about writer's block. I know a bunch of ways of conquering that... and by conquering, I mean stubbornly forcing my way past it.

But, I have not been struggling against lowly, evil, simple, loathed writer's block.

Oh no.

This problem is one of my own making.

The lack of self-motivation.

Oh, the horror!

I am one of the first people to say that you have to write regularly and protect your writing time from those who would steal it from you.

From That One Girl on Jet
Filthy Hobbitses

But I am also one of the first people to complain about how hard it is. Regular life is not made for writers, especially ones like me who have always struggled with motivation.

It's true. Just ask my old boss.

Or my parents.

Well, that took a depressing turn.

Anyway, I think there is a fine line that writer's have to tread (don't ask me for advice on it, because I have yet to find the line) between forcing yourself to write because it will help in the long run and turning writing into a chore (don't turn it into a chore though, it is far more fun than doing dishes or cleaning out the litter box).

There are days that I treat writing like a reward: "I cleaned the bathroom and earned myself an hour of writing time" and there are other days where I cringe and whine (internally of course, my roommates don't need to hear that) about needing to get some writing down.

I wish I had some advice other than: stick to it and good things will happen (which I'm pretty sure came out of a fortune cookie somewhere).

But I don't.

Sorry.

Sometimes that's okay, though. Sometimes it's just good to know there is somebody in the world who feels your pain.

And I feel you.

Not literally, though, that might be illegal depending on your age and is definitely all around creepy.

From some person's blog, no idea.
Did you seriously think this was not going to happen?

My Uneventful Beginning

I wasn't lucky enough to be one of those people who always knew what they wanted to be and I definitely wasn't lucky enough to always know that I wanted to be a writer. In fact, I'm a little jealous of the people who have been writing since they could hold a pen.

The first time I remember really enjoying writing was when my middle school English teacher, Mrs. Scheele, had us write what we thought happened after the selection from Dandelion Wine that was in our books. Beyond writing assessments, I had never written anything except research papers so this turned into an interesting activity.

From Elfwood.
Just wanted you to see a cute little
dragon sitting on a book.
You're welcome.

Wish I could remember if it was any good but I guess that doesn't really matter. I enjoyed writing it.

But I kind of attribute this assignment to being the beginning of my writing, even thought it wasn't until college that I started writing for fun.

I had always had a good imagination and I was always coming up with pretend people in pretend scenarios. I guess you could say that instead of my imaginary friends going away as I grew up, they morphed into the characters in my books.

I took a creative writing class in college for my English requirement and really enjoyed it (except for the poetry since I suck at writing it). The moment I realized that I could be good at writing was at the end of the semester when the teacher had us read something we had written to the whole class. While most people read a poem or two so they weren't standing for very long, I read a section from a story I had started for the class. Most people zoned out like college students do, but there were two or three people who were enthralled. One even asked me if I was going to finish it. Made my day.

I should find that and see if it's worth finishing.

Well, that class got me going and I even started writing a novel just for the fun of it. It is a historical romance set in Medieval England. I was really into historical romances at the time and wrote it how I thought historical romances were supposed to be written.

It wasn't bad, it just wasn't groundbreaking. And it took me about six years to write because, even though I enjoyed writing, it was kind of a hobby that I picked up once a month or so when I was bored.

I think it was about halfway through my novel that I began to think I could actually do this.

Thank you Google.
All true.
Sadly.

Become a writer.

The realization didn't come on a lightening bolt or in a sudden moment of clarity. It just sort of crept into me.

Probably brought on by the question:

"What the hell am I going to do with this book when it's done?"


I had my mom read some of what I had written (she liked it, and she swears it's not just because she made me), and I started taking the whole project more seriously. I promised to write at least once a week,

I was going to finish it.

Pretty much just to see if I could.

I'm not very good at finishing projects so it surprised me more than anybody when I declared it done.

Well, by then, I had an idea for my next novel and then things spiraled out of control in the following years. I now have so many projects that my head spins just thinking about them.

From Mrs. Laffin's Laughings

I definitely wouldn't say that I came to writing late in life (22 isn't exactly over the hill, and neither is 30 thank you very much) but it wasn't even considered when I thought about my future. I majored in history and English because I enjoyed history and reading. Now, I can't imagine being anything else...

Except published by one of the big houses but that's more of a dream than a plan.

Top 15 Things I Wish I Had Known Before I Became a Writer

There were a lot of things I didn't know when I started writing. Which is understandable because I didn't know any writers; I had only spent most of my life reading the books they had produced. I knew I had a lot to learn. What caught me off guard was that there were even more things I didn't know I didn't know.

Thanks bro.

15. This is not an "overnight success" business.

But, when I first started writing with the idea of being published someday, I thought it was. In my mind, my first novel was good enough for the first agent to snatch it up and immediately get it to a publisher and I would see it in bookstores in just a few months. Boy, I was so far off.

Now, I know that it would be a miracle to go from query letter to publisher in less than a year.

14. Everybody has a correct way of doing things.

And their way will be the only "right" way. Well, they're wrong. The key to this one is to find what works for you. You might have a different process from that person and their way will cause you to block so hard, a case of prune juice wouldn't move it.

But on the other hand, don't be afraid to try new things. Just because it has always worked for you doesn't mean it's the best way for you. And remember, if something new doesn't end up working, you can always go back.

13. You don't actually need an agent to get published.

But it does help. A lot of the big publishing houses won't accept unsolicited manuscripts (manuscripts directly from authors). They'll only accept manuscripts from agents they work with. But if you don't have your heart set on places like Random House, there are plenty of publishing houses that are open to submissions directly from authors.

12. There are so many different options for writers to get their work read.

When people think of publishing, traditional publishing (agent, publishing house, paper books, etc.) is what comes to mind first, but there is so much more out there for writers. The rise of companies like Amazon have made it more financially possible for writers to self-publish their work and get it into the hands of people all around the world. There are also hundreds of special-interest magazines both in print and online that accept submissions. There are dozens of websites like Wattpad where people can share their work for free and others can read it without charge. And of course blogs are always fun for writers who want to write for hundreds of people with very little limitation.

Preach!

11. The more you write, the better you get.

Surprisingly enough, your writing skills can get rusty without regular use. That's why everybody always encourages to write every day. Not only does it get you in the habit and forces you to get some work done, it makes you better.

10. Do your research.

Research who you are sending your work to. Some people might say that any agent/publisher is better than no agent/publisher. And those people are wrong. You generally don't have to worry about an agent/publisher stealing your work (Tip- "Poor Man's Copyright"- send a copy of your writing to yourself but keep the envelope sealed, the postmark proves when you wrote it) because agents/publishers make money if your book does well (there are the unscrupulous ones out there so beware). But you do have to worry about them stringing you on, company restructuring, no communication, or returning your calls/emails, bullying you into things you don't want to do, etc.

Also, research your material. If you don't know when the Great Wall of China was completed or how quickly somebody will stroke out after being injected with air, ask Google. Or better yet, head to your local library. Not only is there thousands of books close at hand full of information, being around books can be inspirational.

9. Covers are important.

This probably doesn't need to be said, but I didn't realize how important your cover art is when I started. "Don't judge a book by it's cover" doesn't mean squat. The more interesting your cover is, the more likely somebody will pick it up to read the synopsis. A member of my writing group said that my book sales might be lack luster for my rom-com because there aren't any people on the cover, even though the cover is pretty and I'm proud of it (it's the first one I did completely myself), I have to admit she's probably right. If you are multi-talented and can create art for your cover, DO IT! Or if you can afford to pay somebody to create a cover, DO IT! 

8. You never stop learning.

I can write an entire post about this one alone (and probably will) so I'll try to keep it short. A writer truly never stops learning. You're always researching topics that you would have never found interesting but because your character has that occupation, or lives in that town, or is affected by these events, you suddenly become an expert so you produce the best story you can.

7. Find a support system.

Not just friends and family who cheer you on, even though they are very important (plus, they're guaranteed to buy a few of your books). Find a writer's group or just one or two writing friends. They can hold you accountable, empathize with you, and offer advice. Plus, sometimes it's just nice to talk to somebody who has had the exact same challenges that you face and have made it through.

No wonder I have back problems.

6. Have the proper tools handy...

As in always and everywhere. I can't tell you the number of times that I have had a story idea or even just a scene pop into my head and I didn't have any paper or a pen handy. That's why I keep a notebook in my purse and always have a pen close by because you never know when inspiration will strike.

5. Writer's block is very real and very painful.

As much as I would love to say that there is a sure-fire way to get through it, there isn't. Different things work for different people and sometimes a method that has worked in the past doesn't anymore. You just have to keep at it and never give up.

4. There will come a day where you hate everything you write.

Been there, done that. Don't give up because this too, shall pass. Plus, you might hate it because you've been with it from the beginning. You see where the smooth flowing narrative trips over a few bad lines. You see the tiny, insignificant questions that your audience will never notice. Take a breather and get back to it. You've got this.

3. You have to learn to talk about yourself and your work with confidence.

I am the first to admit that this is not my strong suite. I've never been good at talking about my achievements. It always felt like bragging and makes me uncomfortable. But in this industry, word-of-mouth is so important. You need to be able to talk about your writing in hopes of luring another reader into your fold. Convince them they can't go another day without reading your book. 

2. Get a thick skin.

Professional rejection isn't the only kind we have to deal with. Friends/family/acquaintances might not like your work either. And that is totally okay. Don't think that just because Aunt Ethel doesn't like your coming-of-age-werewolf-in-space-murder-mystery, doesn't mean you are a terrible writer. It just means that she might prefer something with Fabio or battleships on the cover.

Plus, for every person you know who doesn't read your book because "it's not their thing," there will be somebody close to you who will read it just because you wrote it and will potentially fall in love with your teenage werewolf astronaut Nancy Drew and because of you, be introduced to a whole new genre.

This is not wrong.

1. Edit, edit, edit.

You never truly stop editing. Ever. I wish it would end, but there is always one more rough patch to smooth, one more name to change (for the 50th time), one more twist to throw in, or one more comma to add. 

And take out. 

Then add again.

Writing Group-Like a Book Club but for Premature Books

Last summer I was at a stalemate with my writing. I was blocked. I hated every word I had ever put down. Just looking at a Word document made me want to throw up or throw my computer across the room.

I didn't want to give up on writing. Yeah, I might suck, but it was something I loved doing. My family and friends were encouraging, but they didn't quite know how to help me. I knew I had to do something so I worked on finding a local writing group to join.

I had attempted to make a writing/book club a few years ago with a couple of friends who wrote poetry and enjoyed reading. It worked for a few meetings but we kind of fell apart when we couldn't figure out a regular day to meet (plus, holidays in retail happened).

Well, I went to the local Facebook exchange group and was trying to come up with The perfect way of saying:

"WRITER DESPERATELY SEEKING WRITER FRIENDS TO HELP GET HER OUT OF THE DEPTHS OF DESPAIR AND MAYBE HAVE A BEVERAGE WITH WHILE TALKING ABOUT WRITING AND BOOKS AND STUFF"

Without sounding too pathetic.

I might not have the hang of this yet.

Then I stumbled on a post for a writer's group advertising for people to join.

Like manna from heaven.

I immediately joined the Facebook group and messaged that I had been looking for such a group. They welcomed me with open arms.

It was a couple of months before I could make it to a meeting (all while avoiding my writing like it had a plague-syphilis combo that hasn't been cool since the Dark Ages) but once I was finally able to attend, the heavens opened up and celestial trumpets were playing Aretha Franklin on surround sound... that might be a little dramatic, but it was pretty awesome.

I got to spend 2+ hours with local writers of varying experience levels. Some people in the group were pleasure writers who did not necessarily have plans to seek publication, but simply wrote for the love of it, some were actively trying to get published, and some were already published. A few people wrote real world/crime fiction, some wrote historical fiction, some were working on memoirs or nonfiction, and a couple wrote in many different genres.

But they all were like me, looking for people who knew the highs and lows of being a writer and who could offer support and advice.

We spent the first half hour or so "networking," which meant we were chatting, getting to know each other, and gossiping. Then, we went around the table, told a little about ourselves to the group, and read something that we had written, if we were so inclined.

I had absolutely no idea what to share. I was still in the mindset that everything that I wrote sucked and that I was a failure as a writer but, as panic set in, I dug though my computer just in case they decided the new guy needed to read something.

They did.

I settled on reading something from my first novella. It was the first thing I self-published and I had had good feedback on it. I figured I wouldn't embarrass myself too badly by reading from it. The group actually enjoyed it. They laughed where they were supposed to and a few people even asked me questions about the series.

I learned how much I didn't know about the writing and publishing industry and how much even my compatriots didn't know, but everybody was more than happy to share what knowledge they had.

We were a group of non-professional writers working together to make everybody better.

The encouragement was overwhelming. Nothing else could have been as effective breaking down my block and self-doubt as that meeting.

I walked out of that first meeting like I was floating on air.

Excerpt: Love Drunk and Dragon Tears

25 year old Lydia Forrester is at a wedding and head-over-heels in love with the groom. Too bad she's not the bride. When the object of her unrequited affection asks her to keep his brother entertained, she reluctantly agrees, and then she catches sight of him. Tall, sexy, and newly single, Burke Callaway, is set to be moody during his brother's wedding, but Lydia's unconventional personality quickly has him laughing and dancing the night away. Throw in a Roman Senator bartender who invents the perfect drink and it is the right mix for sparks to fly.

Available for download on Amazon.

He was a friend of a friend. I only met him once but I fell in love… like I usually do when I meet funny, intelligent, attractive, slightly nerdy guys who are so far out of my league we aren’t even in the same solar system.

And now I’m at his wedding.

Alone.

Life sure is a bitch sometimes.

“I’ll be at the bar,” I muttered to no one in particular as I climbed out of my beribboned chair, trying not to take the entire tablecloth with me, and wound my way through the tables to the one friendly face I was looking for. “You guys take cards, right?”

I held up my “emergencies-only” credit card for the bartender’s inspection.

“Of course.” He smiled. Probably not a day under 80 and in suspenders. My heart melted a little.

“Good. Cut me off at $100.” I slammed the card down on the counter and climbed onto a stool, struggling to keep the uncomfortable dress from strangling me, which would have been impressive since it was a one-shoulder number. My first and only ‘little black dress’ and I only bought it because it was on sale and my best friend, Nina, threatened me with bodily harm if I didn’t get something new for this wedding. “You been a bartender long?”

He grinned at me with an evil gleam in his eye. “Started in ’58. That long enough for you?” His well-trimmed beard shook with mirth.

I studied him for a minute, then nodded. “We’ll find out.”

“What’re you drinking?”

“Well, I just finished a terrible vodka tonic that that guy managed to screw up.” I pointed at the bro at the end of the bar who was probably still suffering from the hangover he got on his 21^st birthday. “Let me ask you, sir, how does one mess up a vodka tonic?”

The old man solemnly shook his head. “It’s a shame.”

“It is,” I agreed. “Do you mind if I call you Corilinus?”

“Normally yes, seeing as my name is Dave.” He leaned an elbow on the bar in front of me.

I shook my head. “You, sir, are no Dave. Now, Corilinus, as for my drink, I want something old school that’s not beer. Oh, and whiskey and tequila are not allowed. What can you do for me?”

Corilinus chewed his moustache in thought. “Old fashioned.”

I shook my head and tisked. “Old fashioneds have whiskey in them.”

Corilinus conceded with a nod. “This may be tough. I’ll make you a good vodka tonic to enjoy while I consult the bible.” He pulled an old hardcover book out of a drawer and dropped it on the counter in front of me.

“Corilinus,” I said as I stood on the rungs of my stool and held out a hand to shake, “you have a deal.”

He shook my hand with a laugh. “What’s your name?”

I dramatically tossed my hair back. “People call me Vira… no.” I shook my head. “No, they don’t. I can’t lie to you, Corilinus. Do I look like a Vira?”

Corilinus shook his head but his eyes sparkled.

My shoulders slumped. “Knew it. My name is Lydia.”

“Ah, that is a beautiful name.”

“Thanks! It was a birthday present.”

Corilinus stared at me for a long moment, then laughed. “I’ll get you that drink now.”

“Lydia! I thought that was you!”

He leaned against the bar next to me and I bit back a sigh of longing.

The friend of a friend.

Any hope that my love was a figment of my imagination went out the window at the sight of him… or maybe that was the loneliness and vodka. It’s hard to tell the difference sometimes.

I felt my knees go weak as I took in his trimmed beard and gorgeous smile, and I was still sitting down. “Hey, Frank. Congrats again.” I raised my freshly filled glass in his direction before sipping.

He laughed. “Why do you insist on calling me Frank?”

“Because Fabio was taken and Josh is too common for you.”

“Well, thanks… I think.” He caught the bro bartender’s attention and I loudly gestured for him to stay as far away from my side of the bar as possible.

Frank looked at me with question marks all over his face. Not literally, of course. That would be ridiculous.

“You do not want him! He messed up my vodka tonic. Corilinus!”

“How do you mess up a vodka tonic?” Frank was baffled.

“No idea, but he managed it.”

Corilinus smiled at me, finished pouring wine into two glasses for his customers, and headed my way.

“What can I get for you, Vira?”

“Aww!” I gushed. “You just earned a bigger tip, sir!”

He winked at me and turned a pointed look at Frank.

“Whatever he wants, put it on my tab,” I ordered.

Frank laughed. “I’m the groom, Lydia. I drink free.”

I nodded. “Like I said, put it on my tab.”

Frank chuckled and shook his head.

People were always doing that around me. I haven’t quite figured out why, yet. I suppose someday…

“Two beers and another bottle of champagne.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Thank you, Corilinus!” I called as he walked away.

Frank leaned down to whisper in my ear. I got a whiff of his cologne and nearly swooned. “His nametag says ‘Dave.’”

I leaned closer, on the surface playing along with his secrecy, but really just trying to catch more of his cologne. I have no idea what it was, but I always swoon when I smell it. I can never get enough of it. I love it.

Especially on a good-looking man. It’s almost as good as chocolate on a good-looking man.

Or nothing on a good-looking man.

Reader Error/Writer's Fault

I have a confession:

I am probably the worst avid reader you have ever met.

I love reading. I always have. And if you have read any of my other posts, you would not doubt that.

But lately (by lately, I mean the last few years), my reading has fallen to the wayside.

I want to read. I really do. I have a whole stack of books that I can't wait to read, but I can never seem to be in the mood to open any of them.

After some soul-searching (and recreational Facebook creeping), I think I have figured whose fault it is that I'm not reading any of the approximately 1.5 million awesome books I have waiting for me.

The writer in my head.

Why is it her fault?

It's because I want to read the book she's writing and she's not done with it yet.

It might seem kind of conceited to some people, that I'd rather read something that I wrote than what somebody else wrote. And I supposed it is, to a point. But I don't want to read my own work because I think it's better than everybody else's.

I want to read it because it's the story that I want but can't find anywhere else.

Picture from LikeSuccess
I feel you, Toni.

I also feel guilty reading somebody else's books when I have so many books of my own that are unfinished. It seems disloyal for some reason. Those characters, who I love like friends, are sitting there in limbo, with half their stories told.

I swear, one of these days, they're going to gang up and go full Misery (Stephen King reference #1) on me.

A part of me is also terrified that if I read something similar to what I'm writing, that story will leech into my own and then it's no longer mine.

All of a sudden, my western Thelma and Louise story starts sounding like The Dark Tower (Stephen King reference #2) and then where would we be? Thelma hunting Louise, a creature from the swamp shows up and kidnaps the mayor's daughter while a deadly plague wipes out the entire town (I've never read The Dark Tower so I actually have no idea what happens, but it is in the stack of books I need to read).

So here we are, not reading.

Buying books sometimes, but not reading.

Writing lots, but not reading.

The crappy part is, it's because of all of my reading that I become a writer. I have learned so much about storytelling and character development from the books I've read. Those authors are my mentors and now I feel like I'm skipping class, not doing my homework, and running the other way when I see them on the street.

I also never seem to have the time to read...

I'll chalk that up to the recreational Facebook creeping.