Losing Steam at the Finish Line

You may have noticed I’m posting less and less. I’m not visiting other blogs as often. I’m spending little time socialising online. Or anywhere else.

When I’m writing a book, I tend to pull away from the world just a little, but obviously not for the entire length of the manuscript, because that often takes months. The only time that I turn into an innercity hermit is when I’m so close to the end I can see myself finally closing the file with a smile of satisfaction and giving myself a break before starting my next project. I’m excited to be finished.

The only problem is, at this point, I’m not finished. So to help myself keep going, I’ll estimate how long it should take—but I’m almost
always wrong. I never really know from one day to the next whether it’s going to take me an hour or a day to write 2k. For example, last night, I wrote about 5k. If I hadn’t gotten stuck on a scene for awhile, I might have written twice that.

Every day past the day I told myself I’d be done, it gets a little harder to open up that document and put down words. I love the story, and the characters, but tying up the loose ends and steering them towards the Happily Ever After is hard. I feel just like a kid at the park being told they’ve gotta go home in 5 minutes. How much fun can I have in 5 minutes? I don’t want to go in 5 minutes! Just a little longer,
puhlllease!

This all ends with me dragging my feet, and most of the time, I don’t even realize I’m doing it. I need to do more research. I can’t get in the right mood. Or, the most telling, I need to reread the last few chapters to make sure I’m on the right track.

So how do I get past that? How do I get myself back up to speed and finally cross that finish line?

Well, I’m writing this as I’m attempting a new method I’ve been trying over the last couple of days. My internal editor (who shouldn’t have been on in the first place) is sitting in the back of my skull trussed up in leftover Christmas ribbon, drooling around a ball gag. My inner critic is still screaming, but nothing coherent because my muse is having his way with her. And he’s rough <eg>

I don’t know if it will work, but if it does, this post will be here to remind me what to do next time I’m stuck. For all you authors, feel free to add whatever helps you. For all you readers, go ahead and laugh. Us writerly (Credit for this word goes to Cari Silverwood ;-p ) folks are a little odd.

As for me, I shall be back soon with news! Maybe an excerpt from my latest contracted book, maybe a progress report on Deadly Captive: Collateral Damage, which will be my next WIP. Just to drive you all a little crazy, I think I’ll get one of those wordcount thingies to put in the sidebar. When you don’t see the numbers rising, you can send me emails, threatening me with bodily harm. I find that quite motivating!

Guest Post- Setting the mood

One of the first author’s to ever extend a helping hand to me as I stumbled into this business like an awkward puppy (I’m on an analogy kick today <g>) this woman knows a lot about the hurdles writers face every day. And she’s got some damn good advice.

Please welcome——>

Robin Badillo

As a writer I find it difficult to just sit down, crack open the old laptop and start pecking away at the keyboard. No, I’m a woman with needs and that means I need to be in the mood. Yes, guys, sometimes we really do have a headache. LOL!

Living in a house with teenagers and the recent addition of my visiting 40 year old brother, whom I inherited when my parents divorced twenty-five years ago, I have a hard time setting the mood.

When school dismissed for summer break the first week of June, I knew immediately I was doomed, but did I prepare? Did I firmly set the ground rules? Did I draw up an evacuation plan? NO! So, two months later, on the verge of a nervous breakdown, here I am, suffering the consequences of my inaction!!

I find myself recalling a time in my life when I had goals and saw to it they were met.

Then… I had a kid… then came the bills… then came the dreaded dead-end job…then I added more kids….then more bills. You know the cycle, the one that develops overnight then abandons you with little hope of escape? I know what you may be thinking…damn kids ruined everything, right?

It’s okay to think that, and it may not be too far from the truth of the matter, which is…the kids are to blame!!! Just not in a bad way. They’re who I do it for and that puts a different spin to the never ending cycle.

I try to think of it as a fine tuned racecar, well on its way to the finish line on this track we call life. The stress and interferences thrown at us are merely glitches in the engine that require some finesse and maintenance from time to time. Maintenance, I like to call…time out.

For me, total separation is a must.

Now imagine a small three bedroom home in the country with teenagers, two insanely hyperactive dogs and yep, the brother. Not pretty, I assure you.

Now add an xBox, PS3, iPods, iPhones, satellite TV, outside temperatures reaching a scorching 100+ degrees daily and not a damn thing for the kids to do other than talk to me. No, you haven’t stepped into some nightmare episode of the Twilight Zone, you’ve entered my life.

These are the days when I want to get in the car and drive until I run out of road. Not gonna happen though.

Instead, I banish myself to the “cave”, otherwise known as my bedroom, dragging with me, the laptop, my big comfy chair, and a tall glass of iced tea.

Once set up, I turn on a little Pandora internet radio, tuning in my favorite classical music and love songs, open my WIP or whatever edits I may have waiting and I get to work. Isolation from the chaos is sometimes the only way I’m able to keep the little men in white coats at bay, though sometimes, I cut it rather close.

It’s amazing how well I can focus when I’m all alone with only my goals to worry about. Granted, these time-outs are few and far between. Most times I’m only able to write a little here and there, inching my way to the finish line, but in those perfect moments of relaxation and often times, silence, I zoom past that checkered flag and take home the trophy.

It’s a great feeling when everything comes together and I meet a goal. Though few and far between, it’s all worth it in the end.

As a writer, mother, daughter, sister etc., we must find balance. I mentioned that just yesterday to another author friend of mine. It’s true. Balance is the only way to make anything work, whether you’re a writer, chef, sales clerk or some wealthy corporate executive. We all live in the same world and have our own tailor made stresses. Setting the mood for dealing with those issues may be different for each of us, but still a necessary tool if we want to succeed.

Hot bubble baths while sipping champagne, working out at the gym, swimming a lap or two in the pool, taking a walk in the park or banishing yourself to your “cave”… it doesn’t really matter, as long as it works.

Perhaps, you’re one of the lucky ones who’ve already figured out how to set your mood. If so, that’s fantastic. Keep it up!!

If not, just remember, if all else fails, chocolate is a great listener and hits that sweet spot every time!!

Blurb: Raven Prince, a vampire, and Thorne Abbott, her
human lover, have endured secrets, lies and even murder. The only task
remaining is for Thorne to become a vampire as well. Eternity never looked so
good.

Haunted by the shame of deserting his first true
love, Jason Craft, became a hunter of his own kind. Brought together on a
mission of revenge, he found sanctuary in the arms of Jazmine Fabré and
together they uncovered a startling truth.

Jason, now an enemy of the Vampire Lord for whom
he’d been employed, sets out to save the coven he’s been commissioned to eradicate,
which leads straight to the woman he left behind thirty years before, Raven
Prince.

Will fate lead them to where they were meant to be? Or will evil forces destroy them all?

Sometimes the only way to get something right is to go back to where it all went wrong.

 

Two Mini-Excerpts

Blood Hunter ~ The
Return

Thorne and Raven

Her stomach fluttered, hearing the sound of his car engine rev as he pulled up the long drive to their family’s estate. He was home.

Raven dabbed a bit of tuberose scented perfume on her neck, then dipped down between her breasts and made a quick swipe across her wrists, hitting all the pulse points as though she were still human. Some habits were hard to break.

She glanced down and smiled as the sheer fabric skimmed across her breast, prompting her nipples to ball into tight, sensitive buds. Thorne’s warm tongue lapping at her hardened peaks would have them softened and wet in no time.

“Raven,” Thorne called out as he neared their bedroom door.

Raven bit back a giggle, dove onto the bed and stretched across it on her side, making sure she bent one knee ever so slightly to force her rounded hip to rise up from the indention of her narrow waist. The negligée clung tightly to her shapely form and the split up the side revealed enough flesh to get a rise out of him the instant he walked through the door.  What little skin the slit didn’t show off, the sheer fabric would surely expose.

“Raven? Why aren’t you downstairs?” Thorne froze, wide eyed, as he rounded the corner of the entryway leading into the bedroom of their private suite.

Raven ran her tongue over her lips and eyed him up and down. “Would you prefer I be down there with the entire family, or up here waiting for you?”

His heart pounded so loud she heard it from across the room. “Well that depends,” he said as he inched toward her.

“On?”

“On whether or not you want me to take that off of you.”

Raven rose up on her elbow and glided her fingers up her thigh. “Oh, this better come off.” She giggled.

He came to her and stood next to the bed. “What’s gotten into you?” The left side of his lip curled as his hooded gaze took her in.

“You, if you hurry.”

 

Jason and Jazmine

Jason stared at her as she returned her attention to the road. How had a guy like him managed to find the only two women on the
planet who could get through to his tough, loner ways and dig their nails in so deep he couldn’t stand the thought of being away from them, not once, but twice in his life?

He had, in fact, let Raven go, but Jazmine? That was a different story. He wouldn’t make the mistake again of bowing down to anyone,
not even his creator, Mena, and certainly not her ruthless sire, Bruin Duerr. Jazmine, he would die for.

He scanned her body, taking note of the way her thigh high leather boots hugged her legs and how soft ivory flesh peeked out from
under the hem of her short, black skirt. She rarely wore skirts, but when she did, every ounce of her sensual femininity seeped from her every pore. “If you don’t get to the hotel in the next five minutes, I just may have to force you to pull over.”

Jazmine’s attention snapped back to him. “Why? What’s wrong?” Her brow pinched with worry.

“I need to see you in those boots and nothing else, Kitten.” He offered a cocky grin as his jeans tightened from his uncontrollable desires.

Jazmine arched her left brow, the corner of her mouth tugged tight and a devious grin followed suite. Tires skidded across gravel as
she slammed on the brakes, pulling over to the side of the road.

“You’ll have to catch me first.”

Before Jason could unfasten his seatbelt, the driver’s side door slammed shut. She was gone.

“I love it when she plays dirty,” he growled as he exited the SUV and bounded toward the forest just beyond the road’s shoulder.

Playful laughter echoed through the night, bouncing from one redwood tree to another as he hurried through the woods in search of
Jazmine.

“You’re getting warmer,” she sang out from the dark.

Jason slowed his pace. “When I find you, and trust me, I will find you, you’re gonna be in real trouble, Kitten.”

“What’s the matter? Is the big, bad vampire hunter feeling frustrated?” She continued to tease.

Jason’s chest rumbled with a hungry growl as he skulked through the underbrush, her sensual scent, burning in his nostrils. The
delicate skin around his eyes tightened and his fangs slipped down into a predatory position. If it was a vampire hunter she wanted, that was exactly what she would get.

 

Guest Post-The Best Advice I Ever Got

Today I’d like to welcome a fellow Noble Romance Author who has quite a few books under his belt and one of the most interesting bios I’ve ever read. But you’ll have to see for yourself . This man has experienced much of life and it shows in his writing. I’ll let him tell you—>

DC Juris

Someone recently asked me what was the best piece of advice I’d ever received in my life. I didn’t even have to give it any thought.

Stay away from five dollar hookers, and five dollar tequila. That’s the advice Chief Cowart, my Airforce Junior ROTC teacher gave me on graduation day in 1996. Actually, that’s the advice he gave everyone, all the time. Seriously.

At the time, I took it as a funny little jibe – much like the ones he always made. Now, though, with a lot of experience and fourteen years of living behind me, I realize it was a metaphor for something bigger.

The message wasn’t about cheap booze and ladies of the night (though I’m sure that’s sage advice, too) but about life in general. It meant never settle. Never put your efforts or interests into things that aren’t worth your time. Always look for something better, something of higher quality. Something greater than what’s right in front of you.

In 2009, a fellow writer gave me another piece of great advice: fire your agent. Again, at the time I saw only the simple meaning. I had an agent who was taking my money (which I later learned she never should’ve) and doing nothing for me. So, I fired my agent and never, ever looked back. Two years later, fire your agent means something more to me. It means do it yourself. Don’t look to others to put out that supreme effort on your behalf – put it out there yourself. After all, if you’re not willing to work the extra hours and go the extra mile, why on Earth would they be? And the rewards you reap are all the sweeter when you know you have been the one to till and sew the soil, tend the seedlings, and watch them grow into strong, thriving plants.

Don’t apologize for wanting more. My husband said that to me at a particularly rocky moment in my life in 2010. But this time, I had
learned to look beyond the obvious meaning of the words, and see the deeper one. He meant not to be sorry for what I’d wanted, but he also meant not to be sorry for being me. You see, he has known something all his life that I have only just gotten around to learning: our wants and desires are part of what makes us who we are. What is a chef, without the desire to cook? Or an actor without the desire to make people feel? A comic without the desire to hear laughter?

I guess the moral of the story is, the next time you get good advice – or even bad! – ponder it. Sit with it. Chew on it, suck it dry, and lick up the crumbs. Get everything out of it you can. You never know when it will be relevant later, in an entirely different situation than the one it was offered to you in.

From male/male romance to a little solo female fun, this anthology of seven stories has just what you’re looking
for…and then some.

 Blurb: Come watch Amber, whose online adventures
have left her panting and ready. Or maybe you’d rather play with Jason, a sexy
writer who has finally figured out the plotline of his life revolves around his
hot assistant, Paul. And don’t forget Chase, the sexy transgender man heading
the right way for some steamy sex with fellow ftm Toby. These are just three of
your options; you’ve got thirteen playmates at your disposal in these seven
stories—all guaranteed to rev your engine and keep it running. All. Night.
Long.

Excerpt
from “Rub-a-Dub-Dub”

Amber closed her eyes and leaned back in the tub, resting her head on the curved edge. She thought back to earlier in the day, to the website of erotic stories she’d run across at work. She’d been doing a search for a favorite romance author, and had wound up finding one by the same name, with a different spelling. But the stories she discovered weren’t romantic at all, but steamy, hot tales of pure, unadulterated sex. Sex for the sake of sex, and, while she had initially turned up her nose, she hadn’t been able to suppress a little bit of curiosity.

She’d gone back to the website and was soon opening tab after tab in her browser, pouring over tale after tale of all kinds of sexual acts—anal sex, oral sex, BDSM, even homosexual sex—and then there were the things she’d never even heard of. The story about cock docking had nearly done her in. Such imagery in the authors’ words! She had pictured every story in her mind, and by the time the end of the day rolled around, she had worked herself into such a sexual frenzy she’d barely been able to keep her cool when she’d stepped out of her office.

She’d hurried home, fed the goldfish, grabbed up her favorite sex toys, and gone immediately for the bathroom. Now here she sat, hot water up to her shoulders, still just as turned on as she had been when she’d left work.

Excerpt from
“Torn”

Torn’s not like any other place you’ve ever been. That planet has a soul—remember that. She’ll demand your respect, and you’d do best to give it.

And in true human fashion, William had dismissed the words of his superior officer. Ten years of living in the barely-describable-as-civilized wilderness of Torn without incident had only served to cement his belief—no, his conceit—that nothing could stop him. There existed nothing that William, indeed any human, couldn’t conquer, couldn’t bend to their will. Couldn’t convert.

Except Torn. She’d proven that, at last, and taken back the land from terraforming, digging, and drilling. Torn had handed down her revenge. The storm—the natives called it The Great Anger—had come on quickly. No preceding black skies, no foretelling howling winds. No time to react. No warning. Nothing.

Crudely built, the wooden shanties they had lived in had splintered and crumbled under the powerful gusting gales. The Great Anger had ripped mighty trees from their roots as if they had not been rooted at all, careened them through the air like they’d weighed no more than twigs. They’d become weapons in Torn’s plan, a way of bringing about even more damage as they were slammed through walls and rooftops. Quakes had split the roads open, torrential rains had flooded the cities. In its wake, the Great Anger had left nothing but devastation.

 To buy this book click on the cover!

For more of DC Juris: http://www.dcjuris.com

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www.twitter.com/dcjuris

http://dcjuris.blogspot.com/

http://dcjuris.fannypress.com/

What’s it about?

Yeah, part of this post will be about my latest book, but since I’ve been—and will be spending tons of time editing—I decided I wanted to go on and on about a question that comes up a lot. What is it?

And how do you get rid of it?

Confused yet? Lol! Don’t be. And don’t even think of stressing over word choice in your first draft. Tell your inner editor to put a sock in it and just let the story flow from your mind to your fingers.

As for your second draft, well, train your brain to notice those ‘its’ like they’re little fleas crawling around your story. Look real close, because some of those little black flecks might just be dirt. A little dirt is okay. But fleas will irritate the hell out of your editor. And worse, your readers.

They shouldn’t have to guess what ‘it’ is. You should be showing them what ‘it’ is.

I’d make a great teacher, wouldn’t I! <g> If you’re still with me, I want to try an example so I can show you what I mean. This is a paragraph from one of my snippets (all of which will be full stories one day—freebies! You can vote for which on you want me to finish first):

Through the wind and the rain he spotted a light, flickering in the darkness but a beacon to fulfilling his promise. He carried her towards it and laughed. He wasn’t a religious man, but obviously someone was looking out for them.

This paragraph actually has a few issues. The first sentence is confusing. The second sentence vague. Let’s see if I can fix this:

Sheets of wind and the rain wrapped around them as he trudged through the darkened woods, cradling Gretel in his arms. A light flickered in the distance. Shelter? Oh please, God! Maybe he could keep his promise after all. Hope took the weight  from his wounded burden and got him moving faster. As he cleared the trees, the source of the glowing beacon came into view and he let out a grateful laugh. He wasn’t a religious man, but someone was obviously looking out for them.

Not perfect, I’ll probably tweak this again when I get back to the story, but hopefully you’ve got a good idea of how important removing ‘it’ can be. Sometimes, just taking out that meaningless little word will force you to look at what you didn’t say. In this case, I noticed a lot of telling. Once I switched to showing, taking ‘it’ out was easy.

So this is my lesson for the day! Helpful? Maybe you want to add your own example in the comments, show me up a little. Or tell me I don’t know what I’m talking about, that’s fine too.

On to my new book! Last month I mentioned I’d have a treat for you soon. Well, now it’s official. Yesterday I signed a contract with Noble Romance Publishing for my short story The Trip! The release is scheduled for August 22. Here’s the temporary blurb to give you a general idea of the story:

The Trip Blurb:

On the long trip back to Toronto from an art show in Detroit, Shawna’s bus makes an unexpected stop in the middle of nowhere. When the bus is evacuated, she ends up alone with a man who’s just as dark and dominant as the heroes in her favourite books. Her desires tempt her to let her guard down—to take a chance that he might be genuine—but how far is she willing to go? She’s afraid to find out…and even more afraid not to.

I’ve never managed to keep a story short before, so I’m pretty damn proud that I managed with this one. If people enjoy the story, I might do a mini-series with those characters. We shall see.

In other news, I’m really excited about the new group Kallypso Masters started. This announcement from Cherise Sinclair is what peeked my interest:

Hey, y’all–the wicked Kally is starting a new facebook group: Masters Group, a new Facebook Group for readers and writers to discuss erotic romance stories with BDSM elements or themes. Sounds like fun, eh? I’m in!

Ahh, Kallypso…the stories you tell!: Got BDSM in your novel (whether reading or writing)?

You should really check it out! I’m already involved and can’t wait to see how big this is gonna get. Because it’s gonna be big. We kinky folk (including writers, readers, players) are fun to hang out with. As I always say, the more the merrier. Speaking of which, I have a ménage to get back to. Have a great weekend!

Guest Post by DA Ketner

First of all, thank you, Bianca, for allowing me to be here!

I’m KevaD, and I read and write romance and love stories – het and gay.

And, I’m a man. A het male no less.

I’m also a fan of Don Pendleton’s action adventure books, the ones written before he died (the publisher bought the rights to his name and the series continues to this day) and any mystery/thriller by Sam Reaves. Add to that I used to dismantle bombs for a living, assisted the Secret
Service and State Department in the protection of the President, Vice-President, and Secretary of State while on foreign soil, spent over two
decades as a cop with all the trimmings (detective, undercover narcotics –false identity, the whole shtick – night shift commander, and eventually chief of police), and you start to get the idea. Shoot, I once grabbed eight other cops and waded into a riot of over a hundred people. I’m an Alpha Leo to boot.

So, what’s a goon like me doing reading and writing romance stories?

Quite simply, I love love. More so, I’m passionate about love. Two people, regardless of gender, who find each other in spite of the obstacles life throws in their way warms my heart and brings a smile to my stoic face.

To be honest, when I found out my first book scheduled to be published was my gay, romantic comedy “Out of the
Closet” I wasn’t sure how friends and family would react. So I created KevaD – read it backwards. My real name is David Kentner. Not much of a
disguise, is it? Nor was it meant to be. I’m very comfortable being who I am.

My wife on the other hand was the one who had to field the obvious question about her husband writing gay romance. Fortunately, she has a sense of humor.

When I wrote the romantic suspense novel “Sunday Awakening” I wanted the story to be more than the standard fair. I wanted an obstacle that might not be overcome. One so important, so dear to each and every one of us, that once it’s gone we might never get it back. I found two that fit that bill. Trust and home.

My female lead, Cheryl, has never known either one. But to find the home she craves, she needs to develop the other. The route she chooses to learn trust isn’t always pleasant, nor necessarily understandable to those of us who know what “trust” is. But once she finds trust, she holds it like a delicate flower, terrified its fragile beauty will slip through her fingers.

“Sunday Awakening” isn’t quite like any romance novel you’ve read before.

It’s a powerful, contemporary tale of Cheryl, a woman who breaks away from sexual bondage to search for the family and home she’s never known, but believes exists… somewhere.

Taylor Hughes vows to find Cheryl’s past and home, knowing each mile they travel is one mile closer to the time he’ll have to leave Cheryl… and his heart, behind.

Excerpt:

She stripped the bed and tossed the old sheets into the parking lot. A creak of faucet handles preceded the spray of water in the shower. After unfolding and shaking out the new sheets, she listened intently to the muted noise in the bathroom. The walls were tissue paper thin. The beat of the water on the porcelain of the tub stalled when he stepped under it. He was naked.

The image of his sweaty body running beside her—lying beside her—refused to fade. She tucked the edges of the bottom sheet under the sagging mattress and slowly smoothed it with an open palm. The musical resonance of lathering soap floated about the room. There were no washcloths in there. The two Stockard gave her were on the side table. Taylor’s hands were the bow playing the muscled instrument of his body.

She lay on the bed, slipped a hand beneath her shirt, then massaged sweat-oiled skin under the waistband of her jeans while she continued to listen. Behind closed eyes, she watched him scrub from his wonderfully broad chest to the hard slab of belly.

She traced a line from waist to breasts. Barely a B, they had swollen at the sound of him, at the nakedness of him, so near. The tips were erect and over-sensitive.

Heat pulsed beneath her skin. Her tongue wetted dry lips at the thought of his sinewy body so close, so out of reach, yet, reachable, if she chose him to be.

She continued to explore her body, while visions of his strong hands sliding over his manly form under the water and froth performed a mental ballet. A throaty gasp erupted at the slapping of his hands lathering the soap again. Fingers drove under her jeans, then beneath her panties. The basin of the triangle between her thighs thickened with moisture. She wanted this man. The ball of passion rolling from her throat to her groin demanded him.

Her fingertips massaged the center of her desire. Hips writhed in response.

She jerked her hand out of her clothing and stood. Her decisions were her own now, and she had met a man she wanted. A smile formed. It hadn’t happened before. There was a man in this motel room she desired. She wanted Taylor Hughes in her, on her, and every way he wanted to have her. He might be gone tomorrow, and this opportunity with him, once he learned the truth. There might only ever be this one night to know what it felt like to make . . . love . . . if such a thing held possibility for her.

If it did, she wanted him to be her first. And she wanted him now.

He debated where he’d be sleeping while he washed. She was only feet away, on the other side of the wall, and he was having trouble keeping his loins from expressing their want for her.

He turned off the hot water. The heat of his skin immunized him to the cold. He couldn’t begin to explain why he felt a hunger for this woman he had just met. It didn’t make any sense at all. Every logical part of his brain said this was wrong.

She needed his help, not his complications. There were things going on inside her he couldn’t begin to fathom, and his mounting longing to taste her might only serve to push her further from herself.

He couldn’t stay in this room tonight. Maybe he’d just sleep in the Jeep.

The clink of the shower curtain rings spun him around. His brain funneled every thought into one—she was the most beautiful and sensuous woman he had ever seen.

“Cheryl, no. I can’t—” His body throbbed its betrayal of his words.

A finger to his lips silenced the objection. She stepped into the tub. “This isn’t about what you want.”

Excerpt Link: http://kevad-author.blogspot.com/2011/01/excerpt-sunday-awakening.html

DA Kentner/KevaD’s Web Site – which will take you to his blogs, video trailers, more excerpts, works in progress, and points of
sale: http://www.kevad.net/

And, hey!

My latest novella, “A Demon Affair,” was just released by Pine Wood Press. I hope you’ll take a look at this story of an angel-demon and a demon-angel who, in order to survive, must kill each other –if they can ever get the whole lust issue.