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.