The Novelty Girls

Sometimes I feel like there is NOTHING in the world that is ‘non writing related’. Seriously, I take a bath, and start analyzing the sound of the water, the feel of it…so I can write about it more realistically. I find myself taking notes on what my kids have said, in case I ever decide to include ‘kid dialogue’ in one of my books.

And yet, I’ve noticed something this month. The better my Real Life is…the less I want to write. Not that the characters aren’t still needy (and vocal) or that I don’t want to be a writer…but I just don’t want to take a break from Real Life to deal with them. This also, unfortunately, is true about the business of writing. There are times when I’m so distracted by reviews, royalties, releases and the chaos which is epublishing to bother writing.

And this month has had a lot of real life and business going on for me. However, I’ve discovered my kids are cool people, my husband is amazing, and Real Life isn’t all that bad…

So I’m just curious…what do you do that is Non Writing Related? And do you sometimes need to be reminded that there are such things?

Sorry I don’t have a witty, snarky, semi or full out rant to post today. I’m just too…busy. But here’s a quick update on moi, because it’s Thursday dammit and I have to post something.

Y’all will be pleased to know I’ve decided to let Army Guy live. As Crys says I’m too pretty for jail plus Jen and Karen expressed concerns about striking up a prison correspondance with someone, even me!

Jobs. Sigh. So I did not go the soul sucking route and found something waiting on tables. I’m not so sure about this place though (a national chain). I finally finished training and before they would let me hit the floor I had to take a test. That’s why I’m late cause I did that today. Two hours into it the I have to take a stoopid test to wait on tables test morphed into the test from hell. In case you’re wondering, yes I passed and yes I cheated my ass off.

Books that won’t die. Until Death is, well, dead in the water. After it finishes it’s currents rounds I’m putting that baby in the ground. Two years of my life is not going to become four. Enough already.

New projects. How I love werewolves, let me count the ways. Just wait until y’all read Lunar Mates V. It’s hawt and in true Loribelle fashion has become much more story than I anticipated. There’s suspense and cool (single!) secondary characters and all kinds of good kinky sex. How can you possibly go wrong there?

So that’s what’s up in my world. How ’bout y’all?

Congratulate me. I’ll be celebrating 39 years of existence next week. My mother didn’t think I’d make it. Here I am, on the cusp of 40, and I’m wondering if I’m ever going to learn to clean my house.
Don’t grownups do stuff like that? You know, file stuff and mark boxes and clean walls. I’m still doing housework and bills the way I did in High School.
Then again, I’m also likely to tear across the parking lot at Safeway with my kids in the cart and run (you heard me) at full speed.
And writing is kind of weird too. I’ve got this story that has been bugging me for TWO YEARS. I keep saying “That’s it! I’m deleting it!” but I can never do it. So, I’ve committed to finishing it.
Very mature of me.
Meanwhile, my boys have both started school and their teachers expect me to be a grown up. I don’t know why. I never have been. I forget paperwork, annoy the school secretary and hug my kids in public. What kind of a grown up parent am I anyway.
This weirdness of growing older has made me consider *choke* the possibility *gasp, choke* of actually *choke* plotting *gasp, gasp* What a friggin’ concept.
But I’m not a grown up so it hasn’t gone well. No worries, though. I keep plugging away at the thing and try and pretend that there’s a mature well rounded (in several places) person running the show.
Between you and me, I’d rather have a banana split.

Okay I wrote this really REALLY long winded boring thing about the history of writing and how we are all cool and stuff-but Crystal had to pull the clown card, and I felt we needed a new visual-something to help all those terrorized people who are even now calling their therapists to deal with the mental anguish that followed seeing some of our favorite actors covered in evil grease paint. So without further ado. Beefcake.
Let the drooling commence.

I’m afraid of clowns. They creep me the hell out. So, in order to share my creepy terror, I give you…celebrities made over to look like clowns. Gaaaaaaaaaaah!

Everyone’s favorite elvish princess.

I wish this clown would Die Harder. Now. Cuz he’s freakin’ me out, man.

Matrix 4: Clown Loaded.

Dr. Evil. If you don’t die in his hospital, you wish you would because he’s creeeepy.

I’ve discovered a miracle cure. Seriously, a full-on endorphin-producing, alpha wave-making wonder drug. Well, actually, it’s not a drug. It’s also not new. But, it does work wonders and is considerably cheaper than my previous treatment for writer’s block, stress, illness, Real Life or any other noxious states of being: Retail Therapy.

What is this paragon of panaceas? You guessed it. The Inspirational Movie Kiss. Now, this is no ordinary movie kiss. To be Inspirational, the kiss must embody the highest ideals of romance and the fullest depth of emotion. Not only must the actors involved understand the complexities of portraying this emotion, but the technical difficulties inherent in this endeavor and overcome them with finesse. When properly executed by the right players and combined with the right romantic tale, this single scene can transport the viewer, if only for a moment, to a place where badness doesn’t exist. It has the power to Inspire the viewer to forget the problems of their day-to-day life and in my case, it has the power to Inspire me to write, even while in the midst of a curious mix of uncertain, glum elation (three different writing projects).

A quick trip to my local drugstore and a gem of a find in the bargain DVD bin delivered this epiphany in the form of a copy of Never Been Kissed with Drew Barrymore and Michael Vartan. Such a wonderful, unabashedly romantic movie. I loved it! When Drew stands heartbroken on the pitcher’s mound and suddenly beautiful Michael appears, loping down from the stands toward her like a knight in shining armor and kisses her before all assembled…Wow. That was swoonworthy. Another of my favorites is the kiss at the end of Bridget Jones’s Diary. There’s Renee Zellwegger, as Bridget, standing out in the snowy street in sweater, underwear and running shoes, thinking all is lost and Colin Firth, as Mark Darcy, finally plants one on her as he wraps his coat around her and utters that last line that lets us know that not only have they found love, but that the previously uptight, proper Mr. Darcy has a teensy bit of a naughty side. Again, wow!

I want to go out and write the book that will make the reader feel the same way. I’m going to build a library of movies with powerful, Inspirational kisses like these and look at them whenever I falter. (Gotta love the “Scene Selection” feature on DVD’s!) I want more. Which great movie kisses am I missing? What movie kisses do you find Inspirational?

The Novelty Girls are chatting at Coffee Time Romance.
http://groups.yahoo.com/group/karendevinkaren/

There will definitely be lots of chaos, mayhem, and fun…you know, the usual things we often tend to do!!! Which are usually ALL Crystal’s fault. So, come on over and join us! I dare ya!

I’m late posting today because, in the face of Lori’s brutal honesty, I wasn’t sure what to say. Do I address it head on? Post something completely unrelated? Pretend I actually had my post ready ahead of time so I have an excuse to ignore the reality of what was posted yesterday?
So, obviously I decided not to go that route, eh?

Instead, I’ve decided to share with you a few truths about writers. Those of you who are one, or are married to one, will nod and agree, even if you do it when you think we aren’t looking. (yes, that means you, Superhubby)

The Universal truth about writers: We are insane.

For the most part, we’re insecure, self-doubting people with a tendency to worry a lot. And we dive into a profession where there is no subjective gradient. No measure of success or failure. Just a vague feeling that we can ‘make it’ in the business. We tend to be a little emotionally needy at times, and we’re almost always exhausted. Because writers run on caffeine and/or adrenaline prety much all the time.

Whoever it was who said it’s 10% inspiration and 90% perspiration (your numbers may vary) forgot to include where the motivation comes in. Because while some of us are lucky enough to have that friend/CP (and some are luckier still to have that agent/editor) who completely believes in us…someone who encourages us to keep up when otherwise, our perspiration doesn’t feel like enough to keep us going anymore. That one person we can call at any time and say “Why do we do this again?”

But just as important, and less appreciated, are The Naysayers. Not just the usual shmoes who ask why we do this, or why we think we can do it when millions of others can’t…but the ones who actually had us stuff our pencils and notebooks into our pantie-drawer for a while thinking “I really can’t do it.” Because those are the ones who push us even harder than our support network. Those are the ones we envision when we’re still awake at two in the morning, pounding out a scene and making it perfect. They’re the ones whose faces we envision when nothing else could push us to add another sentence, hell, another word. Not that we’d ever give them credit for it, but these people push us harder and farther than supportive people ever would.

I can honestly say I’ve been where Lori was yesterday. Four or five times a month at some points. Sometimes it was my friends who pulled me through. Sometimes it was imagining the look on That Naysayers face when s/he saw my book on the shelf. And sometimes it was just the fear that if I’m not a writer…I’m not much of anything at all.

I was going to respond in comments, but it got so long I thought I’d just do another post lol!

Thank you everyone for your responses. First let me say, I won’t stop writing. Even during my 60-80 hour week Army days I wrote. I wrote crap, but I wrote dammit lol. Submitting though, I’m not sure about except what I already have promised. And it will be done this weekend.

I think the biggest problem is expectations. Army Guy seems to think I should go do the cubical rat thing which is freaking hilarious considering he’d never survive it. The really fucked up thing is as soon as I get a job he’s going to get pissy as all hell cuz I’m not around when he wants me here. You just can’t have it both ways.

The biggest problem is the full time thing though. A full time job, a FULL TIME husband (i.e. NEEDY), and three kids will suck all my creativity right outta my brain. Been there, done that.

And this is what really pisses me off. He seems to think it’s perfectly reasonable for me to work full time at a job I hate so he can work a job he loves that pays shit. Someone please explain that shit to me.

So through the day I’ve (thank Gawd) moved from depressed to pissed off. I have a second interview at a restaurant tomorrow. I’m pretty sure I’m gonna get this job. And that’s cool. It’s part time during school hours…I don’t write then anyway. And frankly I can make more money part time waiting on tables than I can in any office in this town. Sad when a waitress makes more than a paralegal isn’t it? So he’s not thrilled with the kind of job it is, but he’ll get the fuck over it. If I have to compromise so does he.

As for my mother, I’m not sure what her story is. I know she absolutely will not paint anymore. My brother and I have both asked her to do portraits of our kids and she refuses. She will sketch them, and I have tons of sketches from over the years. But she didn’t even do any sketches until Emma Rose was born. And they’re awesome. Regular printer paper and number two pencils. I was thinking about giving her good paper and charcoal for Christmas but I’m too chicken lol. Whatever her reasons, she keeps them to herself and she loves her job so maybe she just doesn’t feel the loss.

Again a big thanks to y’all who responded. I’m not going anywhere but I may go underground for a little while.

This is a question I long to ask my mother, but have never dared. She was a painter that went to law school. And when she finished law school this painter, this painter who’d illustrated NY published kids books, quit. I remember the last painting, can see it if I close my eyes. A lush, rich table scene. Broad thick strokes of oil which was her trademark. My mother didn’t believe in skimping on the paint. I don’t know what happened to that painting, but I can still see the apple, can see the red and the shine and shadow around it on an old oak country kitchen table.

And one day she quit.

She packed up her paints and her canvasses and her easels and got a real job. I find myself wondering the last few months how did she know it was time? How did she come to that determination? How did she decide that dream was never going to become reality? I feel like I’m at that crossroads and I think I’ve decided. Decided that there is a limit to the number of rejections I can take and still remain sane, a limit to the number of books I can write that don’t sell and stay sane. And I’m at that limit.

And of course it’s more complicated than that, more complicated than the constant submit-reject-submit merry go round. I have kids that want to eat. I have a husband that wants stuff. I find myself resenting that. He grew up dirt ass poor in Ireland and I grew up upper middle class in America. I know how miserable stuff can make you, but he doesn’t. Hell I went in the Army, married an Irishman, and moved to Alabama to escape that world.

But now I find myself facing it again. Going back into the more more more rat race. And I don’t wanna. I don’t want to work 40 hours a week at something that makes me so fucking miserable I can’t write. So I’m wondering how my mother knew. How did she know it was time to give up the dream and join the real world?