Sexy Lunching with a Writer


I just had the most fantastic lakeside lunch! Romance novelist Isabelle Richards and I enjoyed a three hour, boozy, laugh out loud, sun-filled afternoon discussing our novels. Isabelle is an amazing woman and she has been the driving force behind my work. You might notice a credit to me in her Acknowledgements section. I had the honor of editing When Fates Collide and it really helped me to get writing. I fucking love her! Over the last months, we have spent an inordinate amount of time discussing which is more intimate – oral or vaginal sex. Our views do not align, but the discussion has been a hell of a lot of fun.

This week, we did a trade. She reviewed my manuscript while I reviewed hers. Today was THE MEET. Isabelle is writing the sequel to When Fates Collide. How fun to sit and discuss the motivations and complications of our characters like they are sitting at the next table. We covered their actions and reactions, their morality, their chances for redemption. Ok, there was more. We discussed their bodily fluids, the timeliness of their erections, and how they’d look naked. It was a very productive conversation. (Sorry for the backwash photo btw.)

I’m going to post this waste of a blog entry and then open the file for Circling. I have let it rest for a few weeks. I needed a little distance, but I am ready to get back in and finish it.  I am so close.

Maybe going dark for a while. I’ll be back…


Freeing The Pain 


With all of this thinking and all of this writing and all of this attempt at creation, a new section of my brain seems to have opened up. And that cleaving, that veritable exposing of my psyche, has hurt like a motherf**ker.

Years ago someone very close to me shared the following observation… you have three emotions, she said, happiness, anger and anger.  And that was working out just fine for me. Well little did I know that when I decided to climb into the fictional heads of my fictional characters, their fictional feelings would become very real to me.  Suddenly, sadness and loss, guilt and insecurity, vulnerability and indecision could only get to them through me. And that really really hurts (thank God for red wine). It is not unlike childbirth, but the outcome is very different. I felt a bit like Melisandre, without the fabulous red hair (G.O.T. reference, sorry), birthing, well, birthing something. In my writing workshop someone called it bleeding on the page.  That is exactly it.  And that bleeding is excruciatingly painful.

Fortunately my characters get laid a lot too, and so there is that.


The Movement of Inspiration


Inspiration is a funny thing. It is everywhere or no where at all. Angel Oak, the tree above (behind my name) is outside of Charleston, SC. It is awe inspiring. The tiny snail over this post crawled his way onto my pages, inspiring as well. Music, for me, is the surest form of inspiration. In the early drafts of Circling, before giving a crap about precision or technique, just trying to “see it,” I listened to music a lot while I wrote. On headphones and LOUD (my audiologist friend is going to make a killing off me in a few years). A guitar riff can shift the action of a whole scene. One line of a song can alter a character’s entire motivation. Music is easy.

But inspiration comes from other, less expected, places. Driving down a city street, I saw a cable repair man standing in a hole gesturing with both hands facing down, pressing repeatedly, up and down, up and down, with fingers spread wide. I have no idea what he was doing, but it was a beautiful movement. It was ballet. It stuck with me and made me think about the challenge of transferring gestures and expressions to the page. That repair man gave my characters more movement. They tend to get a little static since they are busy having deep thoughts and making snappy retorts.

I tried to give that movement words all day. I still don’t have it, but trying is a good exercise.