Indecision=Procrastination

I've come to the conclusion that indecision is just procrastination in disguise. And procrastination is just fear: of failure, success, fully living one's life, and probably lots of other things as well. No matter what I'm working on, I tell myself that I should be working on something else. The closer I get to finishing a project, the more likely I am to think of some reason why I should stop working on it. I did this most recently with Playing House. I have 26,000 words, a nearly completed novella, and a publisher in mind to submit to. All I need is the ending. And then that 'voice' comes along and tells me that I should make  it a novel. It could be a novel. There's nothing wrong with this idea, except that it's a way to put off finishing it for a while longer. Months and months longer.

Mired in indecision, I changed directions completely a few weeks ago and decided that it's time to get serious about finishing the mainstream novel that I've been writing and re-writing for a very long time. There's nothing wrong with finishing the mainstream novel. I definitely should to it. So I've been working on it a bit lately, and running into---you guessed it---indecision. Is it really mainstream or is a serious contemporary romance? Both could work. But I need to make up my mind before I go any further into the story.

Suddenly I'm feeling the urge to finish, Playing House, the novella.

Will this ever get easier?

Resolutions that I will absolutely positively without a doubt---not achieve

I have come to the conclusion that setting goals is a direct route to failure. Okay, maybe not for everyone, but definitely for me. I've followed this pattern since I was six: set goal, decide it's too hard to achieve, give up, and feel bad about myself. That's it, story of my life, history of my failures. And if you're wondering what kind of goal a six year old sets I must confess, the neighbor girl, who was all of nine, is actually the one who decided I needed to go on a diet. She became my personal trainer and forced me to jump rope. Afterward, I went home and had a snack. When the evil Michelle asked my brother what I was doing the little traitor told her about my toast with jam. I was filled with shame.

So after many many years of setting goals; health goals, writing goals, 'change myself into an entirely different (Better) person by next  year,' goals, I've given up. The following is a list of goals I will NOT achieve.

I will not work out three to five times a week, alternating aerobic workouts with strength training.
I will not eat nine servings a day of fruits and vegetables, cut out all sugar, fat, salt, etc.
I will not lose thirty-five, twenty, or even ten pounds.
I will not finish my mainstream novel, find an agent, get published etc.
I will not sell numerous romance novels, and novellas and become the next self published internet success.
I will not overcome my fear of speaking in front of large groups.
I will not learn to be self confident, gregarious and the life of the party.
I will not learn poise, grace, and charm.
I will not become the new and improved version of myself.

Here is my list of things I absolutely can and will do.

I will breathe.
I will eat.
I will exercise.
I will lose something (Probably my keys, or my cell phone.)
I will write.
A lot.
And maybe finish something.
And maybe submit it
Or maybe self publish it.
Maybe.

Battling Resistance

Nearing the end of a novella that I'd like to submit sometime in January and every day is like going into battle. Every story I've ever written suddenly seems more promising, more tempting, than the one that is closest to being finished. With me, resistance often comes in the form of indecision. It was a novel. Then it was a novella. Past the 100 page mark, nearing the big scene and resolution, and suddenly I'm back to, hmmm, maybe this should be a novel.

Resistance Be Gone You Evil Beast!

There. I feel better now.

Resistance

A couple months ago I put the book "The War of Art" on hold at the library. It arrived on Friday, but I got busy and forgot to pick it up. Saturday was one of those days where I could not keep my butt on my stool, or my mind on a story, any story, and I'm currently working on three. Finally did what one has to do in such a situation, got Starbucks and went shopping. I did get a present bought, and spent time with my daughter so it wasn't a waste of time, but still, I'd wasted several good hours in the morning. While out, I picked up my library book. It's not a long read. I sat down with it after dinner and didn't get up until it was finished. Of course, reading the book was another form of procrastination. I read it a second time before the evening was over. It was time well spent. I now know a new name for 'can't keep butt on chair mind on story' syndrome. Resistance.
I'm paraphrasing here, but it works like this; millions of years ago humans survival depended on being a part of the clan. To abandon the clan and its rules meant certain death, in the same way that being a 'trekky' means you are destined to be shunned by the popular kids, and have to eat lunch alone, or with the other geeky kids. Creative work goes against our society's 'be like everyone else' mentality. It makes us different, and being different is actually rather terrifying. Most of us don't admit this to ourselves, but the subconscious knows, and it fights, fights, fights, to keep us safely within the boundaries of the clan.
Our biggest fear isn't failure: it is success. Sounds backwards, but if we succeed we are different. We stand out. We risk rejection. Rejection is THE BIGGEST FEAR. It means being thrown out of the clan, and starving to death in the wild. But we don't live in caves anymore. Rejection does not mean death. It's merely uncomfortable.
I can live with uncomfortable. So you think romance is trash and erotica is porn and anyone who writes it is---not a nice girl? I can live with that.
I will conquer resistance and write my story (as soon as I'm done with this blog. And have read the Sunday paper.)
Next up, I'll start the caveman diet, since our bodies still function best on what we ate a long, long, time ago. Then I'll get skinny and wear fashionable clothes and fit in with the popular people---sigh.

Joined Twitter Today!

I am officially a tweeter. One more thing to do instead of writing. I've been going round and round on what pen name to use for future stories and have decided to use Tammy Jean Paradis for Romance that is not erotic. As fun as it was writing Betty Being Bad, I've realized that most of my ideas fall into 'steamy' but not 'turn on the fan hot' category. Jean isn't going anywhere though, she still shows up for the good parts.
Next up: a website. I think I'll wait until I get another story published before I do that. No more procrastinating for me!

That Bieber Boy

I just read a little news article about a Justin Beiber look alike being teased by fans at a basketball game. Turns out the kid is deaf and couldn't hear their taunts anyway. It got me to thinking that if People magazine were to do a 'Prettiest man alive' contest he'd not only win, he wouldn't have any real competition that I can think of. I cannot, offhand, think of anyone, male or female, with a more beautiful face than Justin Beiber.
I feel like I should get to the point of this blog now, but I don't really have one. This is just me procrastinating, when I should be working on my story. My current plan is to finish a 10-15 thousand word novella and submit it to Entangled Publishing by the end of the month. I'm almost to 7,000 words and it's coming along well. I like the characters. I like the story. So why am I having so much trouble keeping my butt planted on this stool and my mind on Night With Johnny? After two or three sentances I check the word count, as if the right number of words will mean that it's finished. The problem is that endings are so darned hard! Beginnings are fun and exciting! In the beginning anything can happen. By the end, it has to be clear that something significant has happened. It's romance, so we all know what that something is. Sex, love, and happily ever after. Easy right?
Yeah, uh-huh, right.

Turkey day

Got to love Thanksgiving, the day when gorging oneself is not only acceptable, it's expected. Usually the guilt doesn't kick in with me until the next day, but this year family members got into a long discussion about health and dieting, while the remains of dessert were still on the table screaming, fatties! Oh, but it was good. What's a food lover to do? I used to go through phases when the goal of being thin took over my life, and became an obsession. This could last months, nearly a year at times. And then one day, a change comes over. It's usually as simple as a question. Remind me again, why I'm not eating Bismarks, or chocolate chip cookies, or whatever, and the goal vanishes as suddenly as pumpkin pie on Thanksgiving. The voice arrives like one of those little devils on the shoulders, and this voice tells me I must, now make up for all those mo

A good love story

You never know where you're going to find a good love story. Hubby was flipping through the channels and we ended up watching Rocky. Yes, The Rocky, 1976 movie of studly Sylvester Stallone as Rocky Baboa. I clearly remember people talking about the sequals, wondering how long they could go and all that, but until last night I'd never watched the movie. What a surpise to find such a great love story in a movie I assumed was only about an underdog boxer. I mean, who wouldn't want to be Adrian, in that dumpy apartment with all that muscle, attached to an imperfect but honest guy who sees beyond her meek, shy exterior, and loves her for who she is. My favorite scene is when stands up to her brother and tells him off. After, she is perfectly composed when she asks Rocky, "Do you want a roommate?" and he says "Absolutely." I guess I'm a hopeless romantic. I love the idea that right person can help us to be our best selves.

The Vanishing Condom Incident

Can I use the word condom in the title of a romance? It's a romantic comedy, steamy but not erotic, and I'm seriously considering calling it The Vanishing Condom Incident. Previous titles were Good Clean Sex, The Motorcycle Salesman, and Talk Me Into It. I've also considered calling it Talk Me Out Of It. If this seems a bit contradictory it's because there are several characters going in different directions, into and out of relationships thay may or may not be right for them. Below is the page that gave me the idea for my latest title.
(Ann is wearing a jacket that Steele, the motorcylce salesman) loaned her before taking her for a test ride.)

 Steele explained a few things, like where to put her hands and how to lean with the bike, before Ann got on. Once he started the engine she held tight to the handles on the sides of the seat, and closed her eyes. When she finally managed to open her eyes she saw that they were driving through a picturesque countryside, past old farmhouses, green pastures, horses, cows, barns that had fallen into disrepair, and an old rusted tractor. Just as she started to relax, the bike took a sharp turn and started up a steep hill. Ann feared she’d fall right off the back and land on the pavement.

The bike came to a stop at the top of the hill, in a small park. Ann took off the helmet. Steele set hers and his on the bike. The park was well maintained and very quiet. A cool breeze whispered through the trees. “It’s pretty up here.”

“The view is amazing,” said Steele.

To Ann’s surprise, he took her hand, and led her to the edge of the hill, so they could enjoy a spectacular view of the valley below; squares of farmland as beautiful as any painting.

“I had no idea this park was here,” said Ann. She felt a little odd about him holding her hand. It seemed fast since they weren’t even on a date and he was officially still working.

“I used to bring dates up here when I was teenager,” said Steele.

It was not hard to imagine; back seat with a pretty girl, hormones on overdrive, windows steaming up…Ann was feeling a bit warm herself. It was only the sun of course, though the air was still cool. The hand that wasn’t being held felt cold. Ann put it into the jacket pocket. She felt a hole in the lining, heard the crinkle of plastic, and pulled out what she thought was a candy wrapper.

 It was a condom. Extra large. Extra sensitive. Ann felt her face heat up another ten degrees.

“That wasn’t in my pocket?”

“Well, it sure wasn’t in mine.”

Steele took the condom off her palm. “I thought I lost this.”

He looked distressed.

“I know they’re a bit expensive, but there are plenty more at the store.”

He shook his head. “You don’t understand. This is no ordinary condom. If I had found this the night---well, let’s just say my whole life would be different right now.”

“What did she give you?”

His left eyebrow raised a notch. “A son. What were you thinking?”

“I work in a pharmacy. I know of all kinds of things she could have given you.”

October

October is my favorite writing month of the year. The busyness of summer is over, there's no sunshine to distract me and no major holidays that require shopping, not unless you count buying Halloween candy, and that's not time consuming. I throw all the best chocolate into the cart, far more than I know I'll need for trick or treaters, and that's it, I'm done. So I won't be writing much here, or checking Facebook as often, because the stories are flowing, and I want to get as much done as possible before life gets busy again.

To Write or Promote--That is the question.

I've been deep into my next story, and feeling guilty for not doing more to promote BBB. What is more important for my career plan, doing guest blogs or getting another title published? It's the writer's chicken and egg question. (And that whole thing just blows my mind.) If I write it they will come, right? (No sexual pun intended.) I am a big fan of Field of Dreams. Build a baseball field in the middle of Iowa and people will just wake up one morning, get in their cars and drive straight to the cornfield to watch the ghosts of Baseball's past play ball. Yeah, uh-huh, right.

Word of mouth sells books, or so I've read about a million times. But you have to lead the mouths to the story before they can start yakking right? (No offense dear readers, I'm sure you don't yak.) I read The Tipping Point, a few years back and found it fascinating. It starts with a few people thinking something is cool, nerdy shoes for example, and then a few more people decide the same thing, and then something miraculous happens, and it becomes a major trend. (Okay there is more to this, as 'what's his name' did write a whole book on the subject.) I enjoyed the book. When his next book came out I picked it up at the bookstore, read a few pages, and wasn't wowed. I left it on the shelf. My daughter read an essay in school written by the book's author. She said he was whining about all the reasons his second book didn't succeed. He blamed everything except THE WRITING.

So, the moral is: If I write it WELL they will come. Unless of course, they've never heard of me or my story, in which case I should be out there PROMOTING. Sigh.

I know, no one ever said this was going to be easy.

Well Behaved Woman Never Make History---as published on Sizzlin Hot Reviews

Marilyn Monroe was just beginning her film career, in the early fifties, when nude photos of her were ‘leaked’ (anyone else envisioning a man with a wet spot on his trousers?) These photos ended up in the first edition of Playboy magazine. This should have been the kiss of death for an actress during a time period when women were usually depicted with a smile on their face, a broom in their hands, an apron on over their prim cotton dress, and a pair of simple black pumps on their feet (ever done housework in heels? What’s that--- only when you’re in the French Maid costume? Yeah, I thought so.)

Seriously, I believe that what saved Marilyn’s career was not the changing times (remember, the photos turned up in the first Playboy) but was due to her reaction to the photos. She did not hide her face in shame. None of that ‘fallen woman’ crap for her. Marilyn took ownership for what she’d done. No excuses just yep, that’s me. (It kind of reminds me of Hugh Grant on late night television sheepishly admitting that yes he was guilty of lewd acts in a car with a streetwalker. Confession is good for the soul, and apparently, the ratings as well.)  

 More recently there have been several attempts by others to follow in Marilyn’s footsteps. However, nude photos aren’t enough anymore. These days it takes a sex tape (leaked of course) for the semi somebody’s to become, well, reality stars. Isn’t that everyone’s dream? For Paris Hilton, it wasn’t enough. (Seen her face on a tabloid lately? Me neither.) While researching this deep, thought provoking, article, I looked up Kim Kardashian. I even forced myself to watch the first ‘free’ minute of her sex tape. OMG! Enough said. (If you know my real name please don’t tell my mother about this. Or my kids.)

Anyway, the point of all this is…oh wait, was I supposed to have a point? Let’s see, I started with the title, Well Behaved Women never make history, because of, oh yeah, because of Betty Walker, the heroine in my novella, Betty Being Bad. Betty wears a nightshirt with this motto on it. Her lover (a bad boy himself) assures her that she doesn't have to worry about being well behaved.

           

         

Recycled Blog---This one appeared at Book in it Reviews

For me the best part of writing is getting the chance to be someone else for awhile. It’s like acting but without the paparazzi. And believe me you wouldn’t want to see my beach body plastered on the front of a tabloid while you’re standing in line at the grocery store (not unless you need some diet incentive.) The cool thing is I get to be both the man and the woman in my stories. Does this make me bi-sexual? Shhh…don't tell my husband.

No really, I enjoy being the hero. For years I was afraid to write from the male point of view because I thought I’d get it all wrong. Now I realize that men are just like us, but with penises. Okay, not really, but there are similarities. Such as, they like their penises and so do we. And isn’t romance really just a matter of how we get the key to fit into the lock? I always put the key in upside down first and then I have to turn it over. Maybe it’s good that I’m female. Then again, I guess that’s better than putting the key in the wrong door. Uh, honey?

Anyway, I had a lot of fun writing Betty Being Bad. I got to be Betty Walker, sexy, independent, antique store owner, and her reformed bad boy lover Carson Wells.  Now I have to admit, I’ve never been in prison. I couldn't steal a crumb without being overcome by severe guilt spasms, which reminds me, I really should pay back Plaid Pantry for the three penny candies I hid in my sock when I was six. Even so, it wasn’t hard for me to imagine being locked up. In a way we are all prisoners of our own fears, shames, and desires. To exist in polite society (put down the cell phone and ask yourself, is there really such a thing anymore?) we have to rein in and edit everything we say (unless our first name happens to be Snooki.)

            Seriously, when Carson is released, so am I. When he corners Betty in her store and insists on making good on the fantasies they shared in the prison visitation room, I’m right there with him, feeling his pent up desires, emotions, and that oh so powerful need for release. And then I get to be Betty too, on the receiving end of all that lust. Whew, is it getting hot in here?

            This is why it’s best to write erotica when alone, with the blinds closed. The ‘acting out being your characters’ thing can get a bit awkward to explain if you’re caught. Oh, is my face red? I hadn’t noticed. (If you’re over forty five you get to blame hot flashes.) It’s also why I prefer romance over other genres, horror for example. I don't want my hubby coming home to find me sharpening the kitchen knife with an evil gleam in my eye. I’m sure he too, would rather find me red faced and panting. And if he’s imagining me looking like Angelina Jolie, and I’m picturing Brad Pitt, so what? At least they’re married.

            So, close the blinds, turn on the fan, and visit Betty and Carson at Red Sage Publishing.

Gotta love ED commercials

Watching TV last night when one of those commercials came on. Remember when 'those' commercials were for tampons and pads? Pretty young women doing gymnastics with stupid smiles on their faces. Uh, huh, sure." Now we have ruggedly handsome men in their fifties and sixties, doing studly things, while an announcer gives us this warning "For erectile disfunction lasting more than four hours seek immediate medical attention." It's the 'immediate' part that gets me. If the situation doesn't become urgent until the four hour mark, does that mean that three hours and forty-five minutes is perfectly okay? I'm having this vision of a studly guy sitting in his four by four in the hospital parking lot desperately tryig to alleviate the uh, 'situation' before he has to walk into the emergency room sporting a woody, and tell the woman at the desk what his problem is.
"Come on over here sweetheart and let me save you a few hundred dollars. I'll fix you right up for 50 bucks."   

What Blogging and Graduation Speeches have in Common.

So, I've been perusing other blogs lately. I'm not actually sure if  'perusing' is the right word but I like the sound of it. Say it out loud with me, perusing. Anyway, I've been reading other blogs and I've come to the conclusion that blog writing is a bit like speech making. Ever sat through an excrutiatingly long graduation ceremony? How long does it take before your mind begins to wander?  If they start with something funny, or profound, I'm good for a couple of minutes. Then I start to notice things: the baby three rows away gurgling and drooling on Mom's new dress, the Grandpa asleep with his mouth wide open, the guy in the suit, glancing around to be sure no one's watching before he slips his used gum under the seat, that sort of thing. I will admit, I've never been a good listener. This is either due to a case of undiagnosed ADD or an intense need to be constantly entertained. Whether it's a speech, a blog, or fiction, it has to grab me from the first word, and hold me captive, gasping for air, until the last word--- or it has failed. This may sound a bit harsh (is that you I hear, snoring in the back of the room?) but really it's what writers must strive for. Boredom is the enemy, and we must fight him with everything we've got! Ice pick anyone? 

Guest blogging

Woohoo! Got some guest blogging going on! Going to be at Book in it Reviews on September 1st!

Down and Dirty

Kids are both at college, and my wrist is mostly healed from surgery, so it' time to get down and dirty. And when I'm done scrubbing the floors I'll get some serious writing done!

Where Does the Time Go?

Summer is flying by. Just took my youngest to college. I'm done crying (for now anyway) and ready to dive in and get some serious writing done!

Summer Lazy Summer

Weather has been great! I recommend that everyone get surgery so you can lie around all summer. I've been working on a contemporary, not erotic, romance, and taking a little time each afternoon to lie in the sun and read. I haven't felt this free since the summer after high school, which I spent reading, daydreaming and working on my tan. My parents were in no hurry to push us out of the nest and I took my time easing into adulthood. My goal was to get married, have four kids, stay home with them, write novels and become rich and famous.

Turns out, everyone has the rich and famous dream. Imagine if we all succeeded? There would be paparrazzi on every corner. Or is it their dream too? They'd have to turn the cameras on each other. What craziness that would be. And there wouldn't be any room left on the grocery store shelves for food; it would all be tabloids. We'd spend our time reading about each and arguing over who is the most famous.

 

I hate having my picture taken.

 

Sigh...I guess I'll just settle for writing a good novel, and hope people want to read it.

Borders, We'll Miss You!

Sad to hear that it's official. All the Borders stores will be closing their doors. I've been meeting my writers group at a Borders for more than ten years now. I'm sure we'll find a new place to meet, but it will never be the same. The changes that are taking place in the publishing world are pretty scary, but I believe that good storytelling will endure. It's only the medium that is changing. It has to. Someday this time in history will be referred to as 'before and after the Internet.'
As for enduring, once upon a time stories were told around the campfire, harrowing tales of Uncle Bunga nearly being trampled by an angry mastodon, but using his wits to outsmart the beast and living to tell, and embellish, the tale. We all know that the publishing industry is a dinosaur. It can't stick around forever. While some book publishers, like Tricerotops and Tyranosouras, are destined for extinction, others, think fish, lizards and birds, will stick around forever in some form or another. I did read that some in the book industry fear that paper books will vanish and we'll stop reading altogether. If that were true I would have stopped listening to music when cassette tapes died out, and stopped watching movies when DVDs replaced VHS. Get real people. We will adapt. Stories and we who write them are here to stay, we just look different. And on a positive note: electronic books can't be burned! That's especially good news for those of us who write erotica.