Shake Things Up

So I've posted in length about my writing trouble. I wouldn't call it writer's block, more like...writer's constipation? I did manage to write something very quickly, which was different than anything I'd written before. That difference helped me focus and get it done very quickly.

Sometimes you have to shake things up to shake things loose in the writing department.

Now I'm shaking things up even more in my life.

We decided to start looking for a new (to us) house in the spring. Only it didn't work out that way. We went to a couple of open houses to see what houses were out there and wound up falling in love.

We close tomorrow.

It's a scary prospect. It's shaken up my whole life. But before we didn't really choose a house. This one, we all did. I'll have an office. I will admit, I have problems ignoring clutter from the kids in the room I share with them now. I don't know if that will help but it will at least take away that excuse.

I'll let you know how the shakeup goes.

Mechele Armstrong
www.mechelearmstrong.com

Rough and Ready

I think Sloan and I are in a similar place creatively speaking. We keep blogging on writer's ennui and reenergizing ourselves and tips and tricks for getting your muse off her lazy ass and back to work.

I'M NOT PAYING YOU TO EAT BON BONS AND WATCH SOAPS, CHICK.

That would be my muse I'm shrieking at, not Sloan (who I'm sure is in the shower right this very minute thinking writerly thoughts as she gropes for the soap).

So I reached a turning point last week.

For the last year (it started in December '09 to be honest) I've been hanging on by my fingernails. I had a blazingly productive year in 2009, but the downside of that was I felt that I needed to do really different stuff in 2010. So I did. I did short stories and fantasy and socio-political paranormal and edgy contemporary romance...and none of it was particularly easy, but I felt like I really needed to stretch and prove myself. And that my readers deserved that.

(Polite applause from said readers in the gallery.)

So I did just that -- to my satisfaction at least -- but the end result was that I'm done experimenting for a while.

(Much more enthusiastic applause from said readers in the said gallery.)

Next year I'm strictly writing projects that entertain me. And if every flipping book is about a cop and a writer, so be it.

Well, they won't all be cops and writers because I have seen the future and it is booked. Yeah, in this bright and fierce spirit of defiance I took a look at next year's schedule and deflated like a hot balloon as I realized A - I'm booked solidly, B - I don't get to take the two or three months off at the start of the year that I had planned to take.

Well, I mean I could, but there is that thing called a mortgage.

What to do, what to do. I'd been telling myself for months I could just...hold...on until...January and then I realized I was talking about January 2012.

A funny thing happened on the way to my nervous breakdown...I rediscovered the joy of a rough draft. I'm not saying there's not a lot of merit in taking showers or vacuuming or driving or walking (I do all these things -- and may I add gardening and splashing in the wading pool to the list of idea generators?), but for me nothing beats the old fashioned joy of writing a shitty first draft.

I mean hammer something, ANYTHING down. Get some semblance of a rough draft down and then move on to the next one. Let the first sit for a bit while you're disgracing yourself with the next project. Then start filling in the blanks of the first trainwreck, and lo! It ain't nearly as bad as you thought. And even if it is (and parts of it are -- OUCH) it still gives a foundation and that foundation is all you need to regain your creative footing.

In the past three weeks I've hammered out three horrible rough drafts, and all of them are now turning into something...well, dare I say it? something pretty good. I've almost rediscovered my joy of writing. Or at least my joy of finishing projects.

Inevitably, once you start to write, ideas will -- must -- come. Maybe they're not brilliant ideas, but from these first basic acorns do mighty oaks spring. Sometimes they shortly after topple over and plough you into the earth but the point is ideas need fertile ground in which to germinate, so you have to spread the manure before you can get the flowers.

Anyway, this, er, shit is working. It's ugly and rough but it's effective, and weirdly enough I'm remembering what it is I love about writing. And no, it's not being up to my elbows in molten crap. It's what springs from the molten crap.

Creativity requires letting go. Letting go of your fear that people won't like what you're doing, that you will be criticized, that this won't be as good as that, that you will fail. Worst of all, that you will disappoint yourself.

The truth is, you only really disappoint yourself when you fail to try. And none of the other even matters. What matters is that you fulfill your creative imperative. You're a storyteller. You have stories to tell.

Tell. Your. Stories.

Speaking of which...time to get back to it. I have some really horrible writing to get done today.

Sneak peek at Indigo Knights: Squire

No cover yet and still working on edits (although I think they might be done now), but Indigo Knights: Squire, the first book of my Indigo Knights series, is due out the beginning of next month. For those who might not know, the Indigo Knights is a sequel series to my Heaven Sent series.

This isn't a long excerpt, just a quick peek at when Rabin meets Izzy. And, yes, Brent would be Heaven Sent's Brent Rose.

Keep up to date with IK1: Squire news on my website

*********************

©2010 Jet Mykles, all rights reserved

When Rabin finally found the gate with the number Brent had given him, he was fairly bouncing with excitement. This place was fucking unreal. He leaned out his window to press a button on a pad mounted in front of the gate.

“Hey, Rabin.” Brent’s voice was crystal clear.

“How’d you know it’s me?”

“Cameras everywhere.” Brent laughed as the gate in front of Rabin began to slide open. “Come on up. Front door’s open.”

Daylight was slowly fading to twilight as Rabin parked his truck beside a dusty black Corvette and a recently washed white Mazda under the shade of a spreading tree. Rabin knew fuck all what kind of tree it was, but it sure was pretty, matching many of the other trees that surrounded the house and the embankment that led down from the house to the water. The house itself was two levels and looked like a huge cabin, complete with all the rustic finishes. Gorgeous.

After hefting his guitar case and the largest of his three suitcases from the truck, he headed toward the front door and found it open as promised. “Hello?” He stopped at the threshold. Loud pop music and a truly heavenly scent of some sort of cooking poultry lead him to his right and what he thought might be the kitchen.

Kitchen it was, all done up in dark colors to match the rural feel of the exterior of the house. The appliances were state of the art, lining the wall to the left of the opening that led into the room as well as the wall in front of Rabin. A huge island dominated the center of the room, complete with copper pots hanging above it. A four-seater table was built into a huge bay window overlooking the lake to Rabin’s right.

There was a young man who was very obviously not either Brent or Hell busy at the sink, his back to Rabin. He was on the short side, closer to Hell’s diminutive height than he was to either Brent’s or Rabin’s size. His hair was shining black, pulled into a tail that hung in gentle waves halfway down his back. He was singing and jiggling to the music, shaking slim shoulders, a trim waist, and a pert little ass. Reaching the chorus of the song, he belted out in a very nice if slightly off-key tenor. Tugging a towel from where it hung at the waistband of his jeans, he turned around, eyes closed as he sang into an imaginary microphone. Rabin grinned, enjoying the show. The kid was incredibly pretty. A softly rounded jaw and high cheekbones gave his face a gorgeous shape, and a long, thick fringe of that black hair hid his forehead, brows, and part of his eyes. Seen from the front, his snug, lime green T-shirt proclaimed Straight? So is spaghetti until you heat it up. Once the chorus was done, his dusky pink lips curled up in a smile and his eyes opened. Amazing eyes. Big and almond shaped, with irises as dark as chocolate bonbons and lashes any woman would die for.

Finally seeing Rabin, the young man stopped, eyes and mouth open wide in surprise. “Oh. Hi.”

Rabin felt like applauding but didn’t, since he still held his bags. “Hi.”

The kid’s mouth closed and his throat worked over a swallow while an embarrassed flush colored softly rounded cheeks. “You must be Rabin.” Tucking the towel back into his waistband, the young man hastily circled around the island toward him. One hand extended to go with a wide, welcoming smile. “I’m Izzy.”

Writing When the Muse Is Asleep

The other day a writing friend told me about a workshop at the National Romance Writers of America conference that provided a list of ways writers can continue writing even when the muse is asleep. It included things like writing longhand, chewing gum, taking a shower, or doing something else with water like washing dishes.

I don’t know all the details from the workshop on why these sorts of activities work, but this really hit home with me. I’ve found three things helpful when I’m stuck with a scene: writing longhand, taking a shower, and driving in my car with the radio blaring. Only one of which is actually conducive to the task of writing down any ideas that develop.

Just the other day I was stuck on the climactic scene of my new project, and I spent several hours working through the frustration, completing other work tasks, catching up on email, and reading a book on the craft of writing. Nothing was coming to me. I could not seem to figure out how to get the heroes into their biggest trouble and then how to get them out of it. I had the ending of the book planned (the romantic resolution), but I could not get the suspense storyline to come together.

I decided I’d hop on my bike for a nice ride then hit the shower. Three minutes into the shower and I was inundated with ideas, snippets of dialogue, even additional scenes for the middle part of the book. It turned into the fastest shower ever. I had to get to a piece of paper and a pen. I ran through the house, dripping water everywhere, snatching up a notebook and pen, then sat on the edge of the bathtub writing for about a half hour.

This is not the first time this has happened to me (you’d think I’d remember to take a notepad into the bathroom, but I rarely do). I’ve even mentioned it on Twitter and Facebook a few times before. I’ve written some of the best stuff wearing nothing but a towel (and sometimes less). A long soak in the bathtub is the best place for me to edit a scene that’s giving me fits.

I know I’m not alone in this. I’ve heard other writers say they also get their best ideas in the shower. You’d think more corporations would latch on to this concept and install boardroom showers. Hmmm…interesting idea there.

This got me to wondering why this (and other changes in scenery or activity) work so well on overcoming writer’s block. Is it because the activity relaxes you and eases the tension of not producing? Is it the feel or sound of water that opens up part of the brain responsible for creative thought? Does music do the same? A quick search produced several studies identifying that chewing gum can improve concentration. Maybe water, music, and driving do the same.

What do you think? Is there a benefit creatively to activities like writing longhand, chewing gum, taking a shower, or washing dishes? Or is it all in my head?

In any case, it works for me. I guess I should just invest in a waterproof digital voice recorder and save the rest of my pennies for the water bill.

Sloan Parker
www.sloanparker.com

Release Day!! His Brother's Keeper

His Brother's Keeper
by Ali Katz
Publisher: Loose Id
Cover Art: Justin James
Purchase Link

What happens to romance when the honeymoon is over? Eventually, real life will interrupt: jobs, finances, sickness, disaster, kids, the age old question of who's turn it is to do the dishes tonight. Few couples lead lives so charmed they never have to deal with these things. The raging heat of passion is reduced to a simmer when family takes over.

His Brother's Keeper, affectionately referred to by my friends and crit partners as HBK, is one family's story.

Sal and Jess are from different worlds. Sal knows how to love. He's watched his parents practice for-better-or-worse his whole life. Jess, who's homelife revolved around taking care of his little brother, is still learning.

But, when disaster strikes, it's Jess in the driver's seat with Sal riding shotgun. Romance, however, is forced into the back seat for a while and love becomes the fuel that keeps them going.

More than a romance, HBK is a love story. I hope it touches you in some way.

Blurb

After six months, Jess and Sal are still living the honeymoon - sex in the hall, sex on the stairs, sex on the kitchen floor. Life couldn't be more perfect.

Enter Jess's little brother, Teddy.

A kid is the last thing the lovers need, especially a sullen, troubled teen, with far too much baggage, but Teddy needs them, and when life throws a curve, real men swing.

A kid in the house, however, means getting together is no longer just a matter of wrestling to see who's going to top, or stashing little bottles of lube in convenient places. It takes innovation - they haven't tried the laundry room in the garage -- and discretion -- hard to be discreet if your lover crows when he comes. Watching Teddy bloom makes the daily challenges worthwhile. They manage.

Their little family is just beginning to take on a healthy new shape when Teddy is viciously attacked and Sal comes under suspicion.
Now, where and when take second place to if and but. The ultimate test begins as they fight to hold fast to love and family while merciless forces work to rip them apart.

Read an Excerpt

Thanks for reading,

ali
www.a-katz.com
On Facebook: Ali Katz
On Twitter: practicalkatz