Not as Glamorous…

When I read books by my favorite authors, I can almost see them writing, glass of wine…single malt scotch maybe. I envision them toiling away, pounding out their masterpiece.

Before I continue, I feel compelled to lay out two facts. The first being that I love and cherish my family. They are everything to me. It’s because of them that I push so hard, that I leave a legacy behind that takes care of them long after I’m gone.

The second, is that I know my frustrations are shared by others. That other authors struggle to find time to write, visit social media to stay relevant and current with the fan base, to give back to their author community in the way of shares, blog posts etc. Moving along…

My brain does not function properly in the morning. It just doesn’t. Writing productivity doesn’t happen until long after the sun is down. Sometimes, I can manage to write during the day when the spouse is at work, the son is at school etc. But even then, my cellphone chiming in with a text message, an email alert on my laptop, the dogs needing to go in and out a bajillion times…there are just so many interruptions it’s very hard to concentrate.

Let’s get visual here. Here I am, head down, fingers on the keys, coffee at hand. Commence scene. Writing is in blue, interruptions in red.

Grace McGovern lay wrapped in a sheet, staring at the ceiling as she reveled in the warmth coming from Roman, who slumbered next to her. It had only been 

cat

ooooooo….ewwwww..whineeee (Dogs need out.) Get up, open the door, let them into the fenced in back yard. Wait for them to come back in so it’s not another distraction. 

It had only been a matter of weeks since two strangers walked into her life the night she graduated college. They’d dropped a bomb shell on her. She was a Lycan—a wolf shifter. Kimmie’s got a nice butt. Gotta squeeze that butt. Ohhhhhh, Kimmie’s got a nice butt. (Husband singing loudly despite knowing I’m trying to concentrate.)

explosion

I manage not to throw knives, put noise reducing headphones on (with no music, mind you) and try to ignore what is making me barking fucking mad already.

Go back, read the few sentences I managed to write, and continue.

More than that, she was a Lycan princess…the last of her kind. Learning who and what she is was quite a shock, but even a harder pill to swallow WOW. WOW!wow

Spouse sees something interesting on Facebook. Sometimes even asks me to come look at it, because…I don’t have FB apparently and a funny meme or car accident is worth the distraction from my work.

Go back. Reread what little I’ve written. Try again.

but even a harder pill to swallow was her being a royal. She felt she handled it well. It had been a lot to take in, to accept. She was less startled by the wolf’s voice in her head, and visions of it lying there, or pacing around.

MOOOOOOOOM! I can’t find any socks. I’m hungry. What should I eat? Can Jimmy come over? (Son asks a bunch at once so…at least there’s that.)

head bangSo I began staying up later and later (3… 4 a.m. sometimes) and working in silence. It was working well. I could get up to 10k words written (I type really fast and my stories are plotted before I write.)

Then hubby gets laid off, stays up later, continues to interrupt.  He forgets what I’m trying so hard to do. It’s not that he doesn’t love me, he does. To his defense, I’m ALWAYS on the computer. I work upwards of 16 hour days. I might be able to work less if I could work more efficiently, but still…

sleepy kitty

And I’m exhausted most days. But I continue on. Writing, cleaning, cooking, doing laundry, shoveling, gathering firewood, repairing the transmission in my daughter’s car (yes, the actual repair, not sitting in the office of a mechanic.) Because my family needs me. And I need to write. So I sacrifice.

But I need to hear my characters. I need to see…no, feel the scene.

realityBecause if I can’t feel it, I can’t expect my reader to feel anything other than boredom. Boredom doesn’t sell books, nor does it win you fans.

Through constant interruptions I push on. The books get written. The emails get returned. The skype messages get answered. And a little bit of money comes in at the end of each month.

However, the end result is less than pleasant, which is why you don’t see a whole bunch of Anita selfies.

exhaustion

 

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