Be the dog

Busy day. Jimmy, our sixteen-year-old dog, had to be put under so he could have four teeth taken out. Always nerve racking when an older dog goes in for any kind of surgery procedure. But he's fine. A little disoriented, a little wobbly, but doing okay. I'm trying very hard to be the dog in this situation. By that I mean not thinking about next time, or that he's the oldest dog I've ever owned. Humans worry too much. Dogs don't. The other three dogs were just happy to see him back and sniffed him all over to find out what his adventures had been. I'm going to be in the moment and be happy he's home, and enjoy his bemused presence on the couch. By tomorrow he'll be back to his cheerfully cranky self.

Have the remains of the plot up on the wall. I know what has to happen now, but not the precise order. Everything but the last little bit is clear, sort of. Choices remain for the characters to make, and that will effect which sticky notes stay and which get trashed. I'm going to go over and pet Jimmy one more time before bedtime.

Bread crumbs through the forest of edit

I'll try to make this quick. It's been a very distracting morning and I've just gotten to sit down to work. But I realized that I'm using one of my tricks for keeping the plot and things going in a book. I have a chapter that got moved to later in this book, and because of events that preceded it the chapter has to change substantially, but not completely. I've had a couple of scenes that had to be edited and changed, but were still necessary. What I've been doing was to make notes on sticky notes and put them up near the computer so they are like the first thing I see when I sit down. I don't have to stare at the computer screen and all those words and wonder how do I fix this? Yesterday at the end of the work day I knew how to fix it, so I left myself a note about what seemed so clear at the end of yesterday. Smart me. A few days back I actually made a numbered outline on a large sticky note, so I could follow my literary bread crumbs through the forest of edits. I know, I'm breaking that never edit until it's a first draft rule, but I know I will finish this book. I know that somehow I'll muddle through to the end. I won't loose courage or strength before the end. And the rewrite of the scene where we have a death, well, that changed the interaction with the police that had already been partially written. So one change has dictated others. But if I had to, I could finish the book and simply know that I'd need the dialogue changed in this chapter. But I know how to fix it, fix it today, and be back to the action tomorrow. But often when I am having to edit as I go I do lists of changes at the end of the day so that in the morning what seemed so clear hasn't vanished into the haze. Trust me, plotting is like getting ideas, if you don't write it down, sometimes it goes away.

A very restless day

Let me tell you how my work day went. I typed a few sentences. Then I went on the internet and looked up: dog training, gardening, news. I typed a few more sentences, maybe a paragraph. Then I went on the internet again. I read news stories I normally would have skipped. I typed a page. I was tired of all my music. None of it fit the mood. I finally found something I thought I wanted. Listened to it while I typed a few more sentences. No that music wasn't right. Change songs. Type a sentence or two. No, that song wasn't right either. Change entire disc. Sit back down, type a little more. No that disc sucked, too. It just wasn't the right mood. Change disc. Type some more. Change disc. Type some more. Rummage through entire house seeking the CD that I'm sure will be the right mood for this scene, but of course I've chosen a CD that has gone AWOL. Spend fruitless time searching for disc. Give up, get back to work. Think of a new disc that will help me through this scene. That disc is also among the missing. Finally, give up on both discs, and settle down to the pile of discs I've dragged from all corners of the house. None of it makes me happy. Nothing was going to make me happy today. I finally embraced that and just played some music, any music, and let myself change the music when it got too irritating which was frequently. But at the end of the day, I have ten pages, and the deed is done. The death is a done deal, and that character is no more. I could only write the scene in snatches, but when I finally acknowledged late in the day what was wrong, and why I was doing this restless maniac search for music, things sped up. I can't say I enjoyed the day's work, but the scene works, and it's done. I don't have to face it tomorrow. Tomorrow is talking to the police and setting up the warrants of execution being executed. I'm okay with that. Must kill more bad guys.

Death

I know why I only got six pages on Friday. Okay, this is not so much a spoiler, as a tease. I don't mean to tease, but it's either tease or give away an important part of THE HARLEQUIN. I always struggle here on giving you guys a view into how it is to write these books, and not giving away too much, or tormenting you with hints. I'm not sure I'll ever get the right balance between all that, but I felt that this issue was important enough to share with you. Behave yourselves about it, though, okay. A lot of fans have asked in the last year or so, why hasn't anyone died in the series in so long? I tell them I made a promise after GUILTY PLEASURES when we killed off you know who (in the odd chance someone reading this is reading the series backwards, which happens, I don't want to give away who dies, those who have read the book know who I'm talking about)a promise to Anita. That if she truly cared for someone I wouldn't kill them. Is it the bargain we would all make with Diety if we could. A guarantee that no one you loved would be taken from you. I just didn't have the heart to do it again. Let alone to someone she truly loved. Sometimes I wonder if that's why Anita has suddenly found a romantic, or at least sexual, interest with so many of the men. The promise covers them, then. I don't think this was conscious on my part or Anita's but there it is. On Friday we killed someone. Not a main character, because that breaks the promise. But someone we've seen over the course of more than one book. I wrote the death, but after seeing the injury I put it all off screen. As neat and tidy as I could, but death is not tidy and neat. I know it is not. I know better. But it was easier this way, less painful to her, and to me. I woke up yesterday morning knowing I'd done it wrong. Knowing I had to rewrite the two chapters leading up to it, expand certain parts, and make the death have more impact. It's the first person we've had die on us in years, it should mean something. But the death and the violence that led to it has taken the heart out of me. I was enjoying this book, and now I am not. I used to enjoy playing policeman on paper, now sometimes, I'm just tired. I know my reality is a hyper-reality, and though I've done my police research it's not that close to the real thing, not really, it is fiction. It's certainly more violent than most real police work, and it is more unrelently violent than most real police, or even combat. I joked that I needed to write an Anita vacation book, where she and a few of the guys got out of Dodge and did something fun. I can take a vacation, but it's almost as if Anita is my alter-ego, and it's not just me that needs a break. A few days away with the family rests me, but it doesn't rest Anita. I'm actually beginning to wonder if I need to write Anita getting that vacation on paper. It's almost as if it's not just me that's tired. That my imaginary friends need a break, too. A real break, like on paper, not just telling them okay, guys, go off and have fun, see you in a few months. Because most of my imaginary friends just wait for me to come back to the computer, they don't have fun on their own. Oh, Edward does, and Jason does sometimes, but most of them wait for me to come back and tell their story. So unless I sit down and do the vacation, they don't seem to get one. Trouble is I don't think I could behave myself for very long on paper. I don't think I'm capable of writing hundreds of pages of fun in the sun. No, eventually, I think of bodies on the ground, or in the ground. My mind just runs to that. Maybe we could compromise, maybe the first half of the book could be vacation, or maybe we could just have a case that wasn't a freaking serial killer case, or one this violent. Maybe we could see if I could find a cozy mystery for Anita to play in, something kinder than this. An Anita cozy mystery? It seems impossible, but damn I may be ready to try. I am tired of death. Life appeals to me more, and it's no longer enough that Anita by killing the bad guy, saves lives. We'd like to be there saving the victims before hand, not cleaning up afterwards. Anita is tired of being the clean-up crew, and so am I today. This death is not a major character, but it's still hard. I've still got to write the scene where Anita watches this person die. I cannot flinch from it. If I'm going to do it, then I have to do it. Do it right, or don't do it at all, that is the rule. I did it wrong on Friday, I flinched, hell I damn near ran. No more running. Face it, run towards it, run through it. Most of the time I regret most when I give into my cowardice, being brave cost less in the long run. Though there are days when being brave fills like this crushing burden, but it's not the bravery that crushes, it's the fear. The overwhelming fear of a thing, and every time you give into that fear you give it more power over you, give it more strength, and you make yourself weaker, less able to fight back. This death will not just be the loss of this character, but there will be emotional shit to clean up for books, not just in Anita's head, but in other character's minds, as well. This is why everyone lives, it is not a Star Trek episode where everything is neat and tidy at the end, and next week we have life as normal. No, the great bad thing happens and it impacts our world, changes our world, and the people in it. All you people who wanted someone to die, I hope you enjoy it, because I have not.

Not the most productive day

Another computer problem today. Neither Jon, nor Darla, know what caused it. I'm going to be forced to get that new computer sooner rather than later. Jon was able to reformat the file, but when I get this book finished, I must buy a new computer. The glitch today may have had nothing to do with the computer being of a certain age, but this is the last in a growing list of odd computer problems. It just seems that small stuff and not so small stuff goes wrong with increasing frequency. Sigh. And yes, the file that went wonky was the file containing the latest Anita book. AAAHH! But it's okay, it's okay. Why do I feel like I'm petting my stuffed toy and telling it, it's okay, more to comfort myself rather than that I believe what I'm saying? A metaphorically stuffed toy, guys, it's not been that rough a day. Twenty-two pages yesterday, fifteen the day before, but only six today. We've managed to exercise both treadmill and weights. The computer going buggy on my file, well, it just took the wind out of my sails. It is definitely time to go into some quiet cove and put down anchor for the night. I've had enough of the big, bad waves for one day. I think if we hadn't had the great computer crash only a few months ago, I wouldn't have panicked so much about today. But once burned, twice panicked.

Guns, play acting, and more research

I always tell new writers not to rewrite as they go along in first draft because perfectionism sets in, and I still maintain if you've never completed a book save the rewrites until you have at least a finished rough draft. But for those who have a book under their belt, here's the exception to my own rule. Yesterday I had a complicated action scene. It wrote well, read well, but reality intrudes. How real guns work. The shape of the claws on a tiger. Size of people involved, and logistics. Where is everyone in relation to everyone else? I knew something wasn't quite right, but I just couldn't spot it in the rush of adrenalin that often accompanies a productive day. I had thirteen pages, and they read well, but something nagged at me. So I went to Jon and spoiled it for him, because I needed to spoil some big surprises to talk out why I felt I'd missed some stuff. I knew that I needed Jon to help me physical out the scene. Play act it with me. What did I do before I had Jon? I borrowed friends or crawled around on the floor by myself just me and my imagination. Anyway, Jon and I acted out some of the fight. We discovered quickly that some of the injuries just weren't possible. Wrong angle, wrong weapon, whatever. So the injury to [SPOILER] is out. Jon also raised the question on whether if you shot through someone's hair would the hair singe? Good question. I'll have to find out. And my question is why is it that if gunpowder blow back can put traces of bits (I don't mean the microscopic bits that show up in a GSR test) under the skin of the face like a scar almost, why doesn't it do that to your hands, which are always close to the gun when it fires? Again, I'm going to have to research and find out if the idea of burnt powder under the skin like a permanent mark is movie myth, or reality. I've also got to see how close to the eyes you can fire a gun and not get retina burn. The deafness I already know is a problem. Or the potential ear damage anyway. Scenes like this are why a mock up gun, one of those weighted to look real but painted bright neon colors is really useful. I never, ever roll around and pretend fight with a real gun, even unloaded. I go by the rule that all guns are loaded, all guns are dangerous. They are not toys. That's why they make the mock guns. A really good replica air-gun will work, but the weight is often wrong. Anyway, I need these questions answered. I will change the stuff we know needs changing, and move on with the book. I can go back later when I have my answers to singed hair, gunpowder burns, muzzle flash, and shooting a gun that close to an ear. I think in the real world you'd probably loose your hearing or have it permanently damaged, but since these guys heal better than normal, I guess I could squeak that one by. The trick here is that I know I'm squeaking by. I know what might happen for real. I don't guess, and if I bend reality I know I'm bending it. It drives me nuts when I'm reading along, and find that a writer obviously didn't do any research. I'm okay with a problem here, or there, but when it's blatantly obvious that they treated the material with no respect, it just ruins my enjoyment of the story. Research, research, research.

Edward on stage again, and Olaf, too

Eighteen pages today. Tired. But I'm hoping that by tomorrow morning I'll be ready to go again. Why the pick up in speed? Big Edward scene, I'd hoped the pace would pick up, and it did. Cool. I can now say for sure that Olaf is going to be in this book, because he's been on stage. So for all you guys that have been asking when, and what book will Edward and Olaf be in? Answer; this book, The Harlequin, which is the official title. I'm off to try and drag Jon and I off to exercise. He says, he'll follow where I lead, I just got to be brave enough to lead to the work out room. Damn, I so do not want to exercise today. I'll let you know if my will power holds out, or if the couch and mindless television suck my will power away.

(Later:) Will Power won out. I've exercized and am now working on dinner, while Jon goes and puts in his time on the Dread Mill.

Home safe and sound

Safely back from Minnesota. I managed not to have out right hysterics on the plane, or even cry. Bully for me. We had between two and three hundred people. Not sure. I know it was under four hundred, and over two hundred, but other than that I'm a little fuzzy. You know how I wear the dark glasses when you guys take flash pictures of me? Well, I hadn't had a full blown migraine in a while, so I thought maybe I've gotten over it. So a few people took flash pictures while I was signing without me putting on the glasses. Jon and I usually police it better, but we just didn't. So I got a full-blown migraine in the middle of the signing. The dark glasses came out and stayed on. Anyone who took the flash pictures don't worry about it. Not your fault. We just didn't police it well enough. From now on, we'll have to. It was way, way unpleasant to have the migraine while still in a public event. We toughed it out, and did the whole signing, then fled to the hotel room and closed all the drapes. Even that wasn't dark enough. It's one of the reasons we carry blind folds with us. I used one that afternoon, or early evening, whatever. It was great seeing everyone, and those who didn't come missed the super secret black and white edition of the GUILTY PLEASURES comic. My understanding is that the comics that were at, or are at, Source Comics, are all there will ever be. The next time you see this comic it will be full color and so the few hundred comics at the store are all there is of this print run. The store has a few left, so if you want one, go get it now, or call them, because honest, no joke, that's it. The next time you see the comic it will be colored and done up, and it will be October. Thanks everyone who came out to see us.

Off to Minneapolis

Today is the day. A plane, cars driven by strangers, a city I don't know. Hope I don't cry on the plane because my very gentle eye make up remover (which I use to fix liner and stuff when I cry) is liquid and will be in checked baggage. Here's to being made of sterner stuff than I feel like I am made of right this second. See everybody at Source Comics in Minneapolis, Minnesota on Saturday. Books and now comic books to sign. Cool.

Phobic again

No pages today. No time at my desk at all. The day was spent preparing for the trip. I was waxed, and buffed, and, feel that it was a complete waste of my day. So why do it? Because I'm a girl, and those are the rules for girls. I am totally loosing it about getting on a plane tomorrow. Verging on a full blown panic attack. Shit. I thought I was better than this, but apparently not. Double shit. The extra stress about whether they'll change the restrictions at the gate. The almost sure knowledge that they'll loose some lugage during the three hour lay over in Chicago. Three hours, because almost no one flies directly from St. Louis to anywhere. The fact that it's this hard to fly out of St. Louis on a regular basis has to be hurting our city's economy. I know that if I were a business person trying to decide where to open up a new branch of my business that the fact that I can't get in and out of the city on any airline with regularity would make me hesitate. I can't be the only one that is bothered by this. I don't know what we can do to help the situation, but no direct flights to so many places is really making traveling from St. Louis a challenge. We are looking forward to seeing everyone in Minnesota. And this will be our first look at the special edition of the comic book in the all together. We've seen the artwork and script as it came through, but we haven't seen the finished product. We'll be seeing the special edition Saturday with the rest of you for the very first time. I am excited about that. The artwork has been amazing. See you there.

Blessing, or burden? Sometimes it's both.

Got up, and got going yesterday. At my desk by 8 something. Got ten pages done before lunch. Then after lunch it all fell apart. I started fussing at the scene. I know better. What's the rule? If it works don't rewrite it until the scene, or story line, or whatever is complete. Don't fuss in the middle. Why? Because most of the time, for me, at least, the first version is the best. What makes me go back and try to fix it when it's working is failure to believe in what I've written. In the afternoon my head went ugly and I just couldn't see the writing clearly. I realized I wasn't feeling well in the early evening. I actually was in bed like for sleeping by 9:30. Unheard of. But I felt better this morning. Jon and I are trying to get on the schedule we'll need for school when Trinity starts back in a couple of weeks. I know many of you are already back on the school year treadmill. I didn't realize how out of wack we were from the normal schedule until we started getting up this week and doing it. Apparently, we've really let our summer schedule vary from the school year schedule. For Jon and I, we try to keep Trin's schedule closer, but even there, we fudge. You just do in the summer. But apparently, I just can't stay up very late, and get up very early for very long. I felt better this morning, so I'm not sick, I'm tired. If I start getting enough sleep, then I won't get sick, but yesterday afternoon was my body's warning. Treat me better or we will be sick. Jon and I have had trouble getting back on the exercise routine since vacation and all the power outages. I know I feel better when we exercise though the exercise itself I hate. We've also gotten off our nutrition plan, and now as we get back on it, it's harder to stay on it. All habits, good or bad, are easier to stick to, then to go back to.

Just reread the scene as I wrote it in the morning, and it's good. It's better than the rewrite I did in the afternoon. Both are good, but the first one's better. Aren't I glad that I didn't delete it when I did the rewrite. When my head goes ugly I often keep the old version so that if sanity returns I can recover it. There are some really good lines in the afternoon version, but it's not the right version. I'll save some of the second version and use some of the lines later maybe, but I'm going to put the first version back and follow it where it leads. I tried to rush the scene. I tried to hurry through so I can get to the next part. I always feel pressured on weeks when I know I'll be traveling later. But cheating my characters of their on stage time is not the way to cut corners. I both love it, and hate it, when a side character character comes on stage and just goes, here I am! In a very major way. It's a blessing that they've become alive enough to demand their screen time. It only feels like a burden, like so many things in life from one angle it's a blessing, stand a little to the side and it's a burden. Blessing, burden, blessing, burden. Sometimes the only difference is perspective.

No gel inserts in your shoes, really?

I had a long blog finished, but Jon checked on the what can and can't go on a flight in this country and in Britain and it's changed. I guess I should have checked the news earlier. So I'll hold off until I see what the rules are actually going to be by the day we fly this week. May I just add that my fear of flying has nothing to do with 9/11 and everything to do with having been in a plane that had an exciting descent. I'd been phobic for years before 9/11. I'll leave it at that right now. I've avoided commenting on the whole terrorist plot of recent days because I see the blog as an escape from some of that. But as our own flight gets closer it gets harder to ignore. I'm not worried about terrorists, just the restrictions of what I can and can't take on a plane. I'm truly phobic, so I always believe that I am taking my life in my hands when I get on a plane. Bombs, mechanical failure, it's all the same to me. At least with bombs and terrorists you can fight back or arrest them. A tiny engine part going bad in mid-flight, you're just screwed.

Another day, Another question

Question on tour: writer's block and what to do about it? I'm not sure I'm the writer to ask this question of, because I don't get writer's block. Look at the number and length of the books I've done over the last ten years, do the math, if I ever suffered from writer's block I could not have kept the schedule up. But then again, people seemed to have different ideas about what the dreaded block was, so I'll go over some things people called writer's block. First, out of ideas. Can't help you there, I'm one of those writer's that is blessed with ideas. Second, too many ideas can't decide what to write. This one I can be a little more helpful with. Pick something, anything. Don't worry if it's a good idea or the best idea. The worst possible thing you can do is to not write, so write something, write anything. Maybe the idea you chose is actually a good idea and the writing will take off, or maybe the idea won't fly. But if you don't run the idea up the flag pole you'll never know if someone salutes, or not. Try it, one of the wonderful things about being a writer is that you can always rewrite later. It's not carved in stone. Let that idea fly, see where it takes you. One that most writers don't talk about much, self-loathing. Just plain I hate myself and anything I could come up with is a stupid idea, and how could I possibly think that anyone would want to read anything I wrote. I can and can't help with this one. Most of us have moments when we think we can't do something. Writing, strangely, is an area I'm pretty confident in, but there are others that are not so bright for me. Here's the secret to conquering that ugly voice in your head. Act, as if. Act as if you're brave when you're scared. You'll still be scared, but you'll seem brave, and you won't let the fear stop you. Strangely, if you act braver than you are over and over again, eventually most fears begin to recede, to grow less. Not all, but most. Act as if you're more positive than you are, and over a number of years you find that you have become more positive. It took about a decade for me to go from being Nellie Negative to Polly Positive, okay I'll never be Polly Positive, but I'm a heck of a lot more positive than I used to be. Why did I do this change of inner thoughts? I was determined that the depressing negativity I had been raised with would not be passed on to my child. So I vowed to never say anything negative in front of her. Now that didn't mean she was never told no, I believe in discipline. All these parents that want to be their child's friend drive me crazy. First be their parent, you're the only parents they'll ever have, then be their friend. You cannot be your kids friend first and be an effective parent. Just doesn't work that way. You have to give your kid room to hate you occasionally and not take it personally. They'll get over it. But back to being positive. I never criticized myself in front of her. I never criticized her father in front of her. I smiled and put on a happy face on day's that I was so sad I could barely stand myself. But she didn't know it. That was the point. She is one of the brightest and happiest kids I know. Not only is the glass half full but it's a bright shiny happy glass. My glass is still half empty, and isn't it a dirty, cracked glass. But a strange thing happened in trying to raise my daughter more positively than I was raised, I became more positive. Even Jon has noticed that he's more positive than when he married me, because I introduced him to the positive rule, and it was nonnegotiable. We've both become more positive people. What does this mean for writing? It means, act as if you believe that this idea you're writing is brilliant. Act as if there wasn't a voice in your head screaming at you that it will fail. Act as if that teacher or parent or whoever didn't rip you apart for daring to be a writer. Act as if all the negativity isn't there, all that stomach clenching fear isn't there when you sit down at the computer. Act as if, act as if long enough, and it will change. You have the power to change how you feel about yourself inside. You have the power to retrain your thoughts and feelings, so that they are a comfort and not a torment. I know you can do it, because I did it. You don't have to believe in yourself this moment, this day, just act as if you believe in yourself. Act as if, and get writing. Act as if, and just do it. It's not a fast fix, but I promise that if you act as if, you'll look up one day and realize that you really do believe, and you aren't scared anymore. Maybe it will take weeks, or months, or even years. I don't know the level of uncertainty in your heart, but the change does happen. Act as if, and gradually you will become that which you acted. One day you'll look up and realize that you really aren't afraid to speak in front of large groups. (One of my fears, years ago.) You'll realize that months of just sitting down at the computer and working even when you were convinced it was crap, even when you knew you were killing trees to no purpose, you actually have a story that works, or makes you smile. You did it, and nothing helps build confidence like facing your fear and conquering it, and not letting it conquer you.

Why sex?

Got eight pages done today. Yea! I've finally got my minim page count. I got my butt to the computer by 9:00 A. M. Since I knew I had a business meeting this afternoon, it gave me even more incentive to get up and get moving. Frankly, eight pages has tired me out. I'm hoping after we get through this section, we'll pick up speed.

Now, I'll answer another question I got frequently on tour. Why the sex in the books? I think I got tired of killing things. I think I just wanted to do something a little more life affirming than murder. For those of you who would rather see dead and mutilated corpses instead of happy naked people; sorry. Have no fear, there will be more carnage, and more mysteries to solve. But frankly, as a writer I'm more interested in my people's emotional lives and happiness than in catching the bad guy. In interviewing people, this change of interest is sort of a reflection I've found in talking to real policeman. As a rookie, you love putting the bad guy away, you love the chase and catching his ass. But somewhere around ten years in, many of the guys and girls, start to wonder if it's worth it? I mean, there's always another crime to solve, always another sick bastard out there. It's like trying to clean up a nuclear disaster with a mop. You can clean as hard as you're able, but it doesn't seem to make a difference, and you're getting eaten up by things you can't see or understand. You just get tired of the horrible things people do to each other. Sometimes you get a second breath, a renewed sense of purpose, and you remember why you wanted to be a cop in the first place. But even the guys who get a new enthusiasm agree that coming home to the people you love becomes more important than solving the crime. You do your job, but you also begin to want to come home alive to your family more than you want to catch the bad guy. When you're young, nothing seems as important as solving the new case, rising up the ladder, getting that one case that will do it for you. A decade in, you don't get the buzz you once did off the violence and the solving of it. I found myself doing the same thing. The violence just isn't the rush it used to be. The mystery isn't the rush it used to be. I've always been a more character oriented writer than a plot oriented writer. I'm hoping that DANSE MACABRE cleared the decks in the personal department. So far the new book is more mystery and danger oriented. But for every one of you guys that wanted to know why so much sex in the books, there were a dozen or more, that would ask for more sex. Eventually, we'll get the arduer under control enough to be able to do a more straight forward mystery plot, and then I'll have people complaining that there wasn't enough romance, or sex in that book. Sigh. There is just no way to make everyone happy, in the end you should make yourself happy, or your characters happy, and let it go.

Another busy day

Well here it is, one of the most frequently asked questions from tour. What do you do on days when the writing isn't flowing? I can tell you what I did today, because it sure wasn't flowing. The morning was interrupted with calls and other business that couldn't be ignored, but damn. I often find that if I don't get any work done in the morning that I don't get much done the rest of the day. How my morning goes is often how the rest of the day's writing goes. I am just going to have to tell everyone on the coasts that regardless of their schedule I must write in the morning. Yeah, it's all important, but all the publicity and new deals don't amount to a hill of beans if the books don't get written. I'm so discouraged today that my estimate that I'd be done by middle of September seems laughable.

I'll feel better tomorrow, but right now, I'm tired, and grumpy, and have almost nothing to show for the day's work. I did most of my tricks that I use when the muse seems reluctant. The muse has said, rather loudly in my head, that she can't do a damn thing if I don't put my ass in a chair and at least try to write. She's right. She's very right. I broke my own rule. I did not sit down to write at my usual time. I let other phone calls and business interview with the schedule. I know better. I've let it happen two days running, and every day you slide, makes it harder to climb the mountain the next time. Part of the problem is that the next scene is a sex scene. I thought I'd lost all my moral squeamishness on paper, but, apparently not. What I've got to decide is, is my discomfort warranted, or does this man hit some bad button I didn't know I had. Funny how your own issues will rear their heads at odd moments.

Okay, first sit down and write. Second, keep to your schedule, whatever that is. I've broken both rules, and I'm suffering the consequences. Knowing I was having problems I went to my writer's notebook and long hand. When the computer isn't working for me, I find that something about the physical act of writing the scene out often helps. I managed to get about four paragraphs long hand. The high light of the day so far, was that the new hummingbird feeder that is at the window at my long-hand desk attracted hummingbirds. For the first time I got to sit and watch them feed. At least three different females, two of whom fought about it, but their markings were different enough that I knew they weren't the same bird. The two appearing at once, helped clench it, but the third bird has spots of red on it. I'm wondering if what I took to be a third female is actually a juvenile male. I'll have to look it up in one of my bird books to see if juvenile males look like females at first, many birds do, but I'm just not sure about hummingbirds. Anyway, that was cool, but it didn't get the scene written. Of course, it didn't help that my computer wouldn't work. Three times I had to call for help from Jon, because it was acting flaky. Jon and Darla both warned me that my lap top was old for a lap top, and I should probably look at something newer. I, technophobe that I am, said, no. Today has made me realize that I need to trade computers before I have some sort of major crash. Sigh.

So, I wrote long hand. It didn't really help. The only thing I haven't done is take the work out to a cafe or some such and try that. But I have this new beautiful office, and plenty of room to wander around. Surely I can find a spot that will work for this. I don't know. If it wasn't a sex scene I'd do Christmas music, but sometimes I can write sex scenes to Christmas music, and sometimes I can't. But usually when the writing is going this badly, I will resort to Christmas music. I should have known things were bad when I worked to a musical on the only day this week I managed to get any pages. Musical, then Christmas music, and hopefully by then I'll be out of this deep funk. But I don't know. Then I've got the trip to Source Comics coming up in about a week. I'm looking forward to seeing everyone, and we are very excited about the comic book, but it is another trip. I am just not one of those writers that does well with interruptions, maybe none of us do. I gotta have a few days in a row where I'm left pretty much alone on travel, business, and just write. Because in the long run, no matter how wonderful everything else is, and exciting even, if the books don't get written none of it matters. I'll feel better tomorrow, but right now, I give up. The dragon won today. I'm going to post this, and go get on the treadmill. Maybe a little exercise will help.

Busy day

Hey, guys, it's been an extremely busy day here. Got a lot of business done, but not a lot of writing. Always a frustrating day for me, no matter how well everything else went. Anyway, we are going to do a blog about the event in Las Vegas. Jon and I haven't forgotten about all you guys who came out to see us. It was a great event, and no sand storm this time. Yea! I am also going to try and answer some of the most frequently asked questions that we got on tour in future blogs. That's it for today. Dinner, then we're going to try and go out to a movie to renew the spirits. Somehow all the good news, bad news, good news, medium news, just took it out of me today. I'm not hinting, some of it you're not going to get to know. Some of it, you don't get to know unless we're sure, yes, or no. I'm outta here. Take care everyone, pleasant dreams.

Vote

Jon and I voted today. We wanted to have a voice in who got on the final ballot. Because we both felt that last time, for many of the races, the people we wanted to vote for, didn't make it to the final ballot. But we hadn't voted in the primaries, so we hadn't helped choose. This time, we helped. This time if the people we voted for aren't on the final ballot, it won't be because we thought someone else would vote for them. This time, if we don't get the people we wanted, we can bitch because we voted for them. My rule is if you didn't vote, you can't bitch. So vote, so your complaint is legitimate. Get out there and vote, every chance you have. Did you know that the last president of the this country was voted in by less than half of the eligible voters in this country. Why? Because that's all that showed up. You think the primaries don't matter; yeah, they do. This is our chance to get our choices on the ballot. This is your chance to have your vote count, now. All of you who don't vote are giving away a right that your ancestors fought and died for. If they could die for it, can't you get off work a little early, or take a longer lunch and punch a card, or use the new touch-screen? The touch-screen was very cool. It gave you several chances to look over your ballot and change your mind, if you wished. It was very clear, and easy to use. Even I, the technophobe, liked it.

By the way, if your work place tells you they won't let you off to vote, that's illegal in most states. They have to let you vote. They aren't allowed to hinder your constitutional right to vote for your elected officials. Though, Darla, informs me that here in Missouri you have to give your employer twenty-four hour notice that you want to vote. I didn't know that last bit either. Sorry. But you know for next time, and most places will let you off a little early so you can vote. Vote now, so you can bitch later.

There and back again

Hey, everybody. We're back from vacation. Usually, I let you guys know, and do some lead up blogs to a trip, but this time the trip kind of caught me unprepared. Usually, a book begins to take a back seat to my usual trip anxieties, but this time I worked right up to time to leave. The book is very hot right now, and I don't mean to imply anything about the scenes sex level, no this is that boiling point where plot and character just cook. I actually worked on the plane going to our destination, and will be making those notes into computer fodder tomorrow. I'll change a little bit but for the most part it's a complete chapter. This was a family vacation so I didn't work while we were gone. Oh, I made some notes, but as all of you with kids understand, the time gets very full and goes very fast. But the chapter I finished on the plane left me with some choices to make and if I hadn't had the cooling off period, I might have done the wrong thing for this book. We'll see which way the choice goes for this scene tomorrow, I've narrowed it down to three choices. But the scene after this one isn't truly effected by which way we go, the scene just needs to fill the need, and then we can move on to a longer Edward scene. Yea!

Almost too real

There are signs that the new Anita book is going well, and that I am heavily into her world. What signs? I saw a small pile of mail on the island in the kitchen last night. It had a note on it that said, Richard's. My first thought was why would Richard have any stuff in my house? I was thinking of Richard Zeeman, one of my imaginary friends. It would indeed be surprising if he had real, concrete stuff at my house, or anyone's physical house. It was, of course, a note pertaining to our dear friend Richard, who some of you have met at signings. He was the one with the camera. He is now in Italy with his girlfriend, permanently. But we're still getting his mail and some of the stuff he'd ordered that didn't come in before he got on a plane. So he's got a pile of stuff with his name on it. We'll mail it to him when he tells us where to send it. But for several moments when I first saw that note, I thought only of Richard, the character. When I have moments like this, I'm never sure if I should be happy, or disturbed? Happy that the world is that real to me now, and since I'm in the end game of the book, last third, the world should be at it's most real for me. The world, the voice, the characters all so real. Final choices to make. The plot coming together, all the various threads, in hand, and we're almost ready to pull them in, like a handful of balloons that you drag from the sky and only when they're close enough are you sure what colors they are.

A lot of people on tour asked me, how do I keep the characters straight. How do I remember what they look like? I told them that these are my friends. When you go into a room full of your close friends you don't need notes to remember what they look like, they're your friends and you know their faces. I may not be sure who has grey eyes, and who has blue, or how tall everyone is to the inch, but then, truthfully, I don't know the height of my closets friends to the inch, and unless the eyes are amazing I tend to lump bluish, grayish into one color in my head for eyes, as well. But other than not being absolutely certain of the shade of blue or grey, I know my friends, and my imaginary friends, too. I know that some of you that asked that question are writing your own stuff and trying to figure out how things work. I can't tell you how to make your characters that real to you, as a writer, but I can tell you that they become real for me somewhere between book four and book eight. I'm experiencing the same evolution with Merry and her men. Book four was the book that they began to coalesce for me, and it's becoming less effort to remember what everyone looks like, and how they behave, they are becoming real to me, as Anita and her gang became. I think my characters are like my real life friends, the people I like, I like more and more the longer I know them. I like knowing the ins and outs of a person, the good and bad, the happy and sad. I like it all, and my friends let me be the moody bastard I can be, and I allow them the same freedom. The freedom to be yourself and still have people who love you. I love my characters, I just do.

Happy Lammas

Got sixteen pages today. Very cool. Today is also Lammas, celebration of the first harvest. Though some pagans celebrate it on the last day of July, or somewhere between now and the fifth of August. Though Jon and I were both raised in farm country so this time of year might have meant early harvests, but what it really meant was work round the clock. Lammas originates in the British Isles and their growing season doesn't match ours exactly. Maybe early August is when the harvest is winding down more, if not, when did they have time to do a festival? Of course, I do have a tendency to over complicate things of a spiritual nature sometimes, so maybe they just baked a special loaf of bread, ate some of that fresh fruit, and went back to work. There are many different varieties of this holy day across the Isles, research will net you a lot of different ways it was celebrated. The trick to all the holidays is to make it relevant to the times we live in now. If you grow food, or tend livestock, then your harvest is obvious. But for those of us in office jobs, sometimes it's harder. First harvest can be a harvest of friends, maybe celebrate the new friends you've made this year. Or a new job, or that you were able to buy that new living room set you'd been saving for. That is a fruit that was harvested from your job and your family's economy. Just a few ideas of how you can take what sounds very rural and make it make sense in some of our very none rural settings. I'm hoping next year to have a small garden so we can serve actual fruits and veggies from the land we live on at table for Lammas. As a Wiccan there are several holidays where fruits from our own plot of land would be very cool. Yes, I am aware that Lammas has much longer and more complicated spelling, but as a dyslexic, I try to keep the spelling simple.