Time - where does it all go?

Yikes! I just realized it’s Friday. My Friday. As in I should have written this blog and posted it before now. **sigh**

Do you ever feel like your life is spinning out of control? Right now I’m trying to figure out where May and June have gone. July 1st is looming ahead of me, and I have no idea how it got there. Admittedly I am the queen of over-committing myself. I have a full time job and then my writing which is technically another full time job.

On average, I manage to publish five novellas a year. That's not because I decided to but because my muse just won't shut up. And then there is all the promoting that goes with being a published author. Social media alone can suck me in for hours on end. Then there’s the blogging and loop chats and release parties. I actually love everything about writing so I don’t mind the time except when it all seems to run together and I feel like I’m not giving it my best. We writers tend to be a very insecure bunch, and I’ll look a manuscript or blog post and wonder if I couldn’t have done it better if I’d just put more time into it! Usually the answer is no. I find that picking a project apart time after time tends to kill it faster than a terrier with a mouse. Still, I wonder.


To round out (and gobble up) any time I might have left, I have four adorable grandkids that love to hang out at my place or go swimming or shopping or to the playground with me. I make it a priority to spend at least one afternoon a week with them while they are still young enough to appreciate the fact that Grandma knows everything.  They not only make me feel wise and very loved, spending any amount of time chasing the three toddlers has to count as an aerobic workout so I don’t need to pay for gym time!

So, when people ask what I’d like to have a little more of it’s not money that comes to mind. It’s time. Maybe if we could slot another day in between Friday and Saturday I’d feel a bit less rushed. We could call it Extraday or Leapday( sort of like the extra day in Leap Year). Actually, I don’t care what you call it but could we please do it soon! My schedule is insane!

Anne Kane

http://www.annekane.com/

 

School's Out

Hold me. Tightly, if you please.

School's officially out from this afternoon until after Labor Day. I have mixed (mostly anxious) feelings about this, since my two little guys fight like freaking cats and dogs all day long. It's gotten way worse in the past year since little guy (6) has really been vocal about being picked on by big guy (8). When they're together unoccupied for more than five minutes, a row generally ensues. This is not conducive to working on deadline on my next book. I did manage to hand in my next Bagram Special Ops book a month early (yay, me!), but I still have one more to plot and draft before the end of summer.

I've got the weasels registered for various camps and swim lessons, but there is a lot of downtime between now and the start of school. A LOT. I very much adore my boys (just so you all don't think I'm a deadbeat mom), though it's tough for me to get any solid writing done with them around. Sometimes it takes me all day to get my few thousands words in, and that's when they're gone at school all day! The plan for the summer is to write first thing in the morning, then take most afternoons off to go on little excursions with them to the beach, the park, field trips, etc.

Any of you moms have some tried and true methods of maintaining your sanity over the summer? I've taken the Wii away until September, and their TV time will be limited to the mornings while I write. (I've been told I'm the meanest mom EVER) When I was a kid we got thrown outside with instructions not to come back until the lights went on. For real. Now, I don't want that for my boys, but they don't seem to be able to occupy themselves for hours on end like I used to. Ah, the good old days...

Friday's Beefcake...er..Visual Writing Prompt

Liane Gentry Skye for Writers Gone Wild

It's Friday.  More specifically, it's MY Friday to blog.  Ruh roh.  Guess who showed up to class without her homework?

For the briefest moment, I thought about relying on the topic universally acknowledged as apropos by erotic romance readers and writers when post topics evade them-beefcake.

But our readers deserve better. You all are savvy, and so above cheap ogling. Oh no, I'd never do such a thing, not to our followers. So, today, we're going to discuss a new technique to assist with writer's block.  Uh huh, that's right. Today, teach is going to introduce to class the concept of visual writing prompts!

Do you ever find yourself sitting at your keyboard, staring at the cursed cursor while the words you so need to jumpstart your scene elude, evade, and avoid?  Yeah, I know. I've been there, too. More often than not lately. Blows, doesn't it?

Lucky for you, and being the diligent author I am, I decided to face my block head on and go searching for some visual writing prompts. Turns out, I needed look no further than Facebook. There it was, posted on my page, the exact prompt I needed to jumpstart my lazy muse.
In a moment's time, I was transported to the jungle. In my imagination my heroine was being stalked by none other than...my new visual writing prompt. ;)  Eureka, my block was cured!

Seeing as how he worked out so very well for me, I felt compelled to share the source of my inspiration with our readers. So here he is, my new BFF, George.
And just for today, I'm going to loan him to you.  So, if George was hanging out in your imagination, what would he do?  Say?  And sorry, ladies, "Watch out for that tree," has been used. ;)

When an old friend becomes obsolete :(

I got a new computer today. You think I'd be excited about it, but frankly I already miss the old one. We were good friends, that computer and I. We understood each other, and we worked well together. The new computer  - well - it needs to learn to do what I want, not what I asked. :)

The old computer was Windows XP. I know - when I first got it I complained that I didn't like XP but I got over that. Now I don't like Windows 7. It thinks it is smarter than me and it thinks that it knows what I want better than I do. It doesn't. It has  no clue. I shudder to think how long it is going to take to get it used to doing things my way.

And then there are the programs. You know how it goes. You find a program you like, and you install it. When an upgrade comes along, you go with it. Now, five or six years later, I dare you to figure out where the original program is and how to install all of the updates. Multiply that by the columns of programs on my machine.  It's a task big enough to give NASA a headache, let alone me. Some one should invent a way to just copy and paste the entire program list from my old computer to my new one. Actually someone told me that they did, but it would cost more than the computer itself. I guess I'll just sit here and feed program disks into the DVD drive.

How about you? Do you like getting a new computer, or do you miss your old one?

Anne Kane
http://www.annekane.com/
 

To Pitch or Not To Pitch

To Pitch or Not To Pitch  by Maree Anderson  (for Writers Gone Wild)

Hi y'all,

I was wheeling my shopping trolley through the supermarket this morning and racking my caffeine-deprived brains for a topic to blog about today (as you do), and this question popped into my head. So I figured I'd run with it.

You see, I have a conference coming up in August. And, as per usual, our dedicated conference committee have convinced some amazing agents and editors to fly in from overseas to share their wisdom and among other things, take one-on-one face-to-face pitches.

Now I don't know 'bout you, but I find face-to-face pitches incredibly stressful. I can do all the prep in the world prior to the conference, but on the day I'm obsessively sneaking glances at my watch, shuffling my cue cards, trying to ignore my roiling stomach and do my best to ignore the fact that apparently I need to pee for the umpteenth time. (I gotta say, I recently hosted a writers talk in an art gallery auditorium and had to face up to a pretty good turn-out of attendees and I hardly felt nervous at all. That was fun! Pitching face-to-face? Not so much.)

And what all this means that I can't relax until after I've done the pitch. I don't get to enjoy or properly take in whatever talks or workshops I happen to be attending leading up to the pitch appointment. Not to mention I miss a goodly portion of whatever talk or workshop I happen to be in at the time when I have to duck out to check the board to make sure the pitch room hasn't changed, and then race up to stand outside that closed door, waiting for my opportunity to pitch.

Here's the kicker: after all that worrying and angst, there have been more than one occasion when I've duly sent off the partial or full I've had requested and I've never received a response--not even to my polite email or snail-mail follow-ups.

And here's the other thing: I'm not entirely convinced that some agents and editors attending small conferences like ours don't ask to see everyone's manuscripts just to be polite. (I don't blame them. It's a helluva lot easier to reject a manuscript via snail mail or email than straight out tell someone to their face that the answer will be no for whatever reason. It must be gut-wrenching. You couldn't pay me enough to take face-to-face pitches.)

And here's the really big thing: I have a YA that's been optioned for TV, and to date has had well over 1.4 million reads on Wattpad, and that I still hold all the ebook and print book rights for, plus another YA that has the full sitting with a Harlequin editor after she judged it in a contest, and I still can't interest an agent in me or my manuscripts. I guess I'm just not agent material. Or my writing really does suck. *wry grin*

And hey, that's okay. I've been in this business long enough that I get it, I really do. But I'm asking myself this: given my track record, is it worth paying all this money for a conference and accommodation (and missing out on my daughter's sixteenth birthday, too, I might add), and booking pitches which end up having a somewhat negative effect on my enjoyment of the conference, and will--let's be quite honest--probably come to nothing?

Or should I just go for the workshops and the talks and the networking and the catching up with friends (and the food!), and not book any pitches at all?

Undecidedly yours,

Maree

When Good Characters Go Bad

Jenna McCormick for Writers Gone Wild

Forgive me if this post sounds like I'm kvetching but I have an upper respiratory infection and a massive headache from over-medicated sleeping at the wrong angle and I feel like death on white, no mustard, as well as a wee bit sorry for myself. 

Now, when good characters go bad. I'm not talking about heroes becoming villains here. No, I'm referring to the revisit sequence in a series, when a character you loved in a previous book have become entirely different people in follow up books. The feisty heroine we rooted for is nothing but a nagging baby mill. Or the gutsy hero we fell in love with has obviously castrated himself and handed the family jewels over to the little lady. Or worse, the witty banter devolved into petty bickering. This drives me nuts. What happened to the living the Happily Ever After? Frankly, if this is how they are going to carry on I'd rather not read about them.

As an author, I know what it's like to fall in love with a character, to wonder what his or her HEA is like. The temptation to revisit the magic they gave you is great, just to know them that way again. But I've always maintained that I'm a reader first and as such I want to keep my fantasies of my favorite characters intact. I love series books, but there comes a time when the world has been beaten to death and the characters are just tired. Let them rest in peace and leave while the party is in full swing I say.

What about you? Do you like revisiting already paired-off characters? Or do you find that your own version of HEA is better left undisturbed?

Mom & Pop Publishing

     When I was a little girl, there was an ice cream shoppe/convenience store down the street from my house. If you put a typical living room and kitchen together, that's about how big it was.  It was the only commercial business on my side of town, besides the butcher who worked out of his house. My mom and I used to ride our bikes there in the summer. The side streets were - and still are - brick, so riding your bike on them was like a roller coaster ride. I would hum just to hear my voice vibrate while I navigated the bumpiest path possible.

     But the best part was most definitely the homemade ice cream. I would get coffee ice cream and feel like a big girl because it was coffee. The owner knew me by name, and if I brought him dandelions I picked along the way, he would sometimes give it to me for free. I can still remember the taste of that ice cream, all cold and creamy on my tongue, and when topped with walnuts he soaked in maple syrup, even my beloved Ben & Jerry's couldn't compare.

     Whenever I hear someone talk about supporting Mom and Pop stores, I think fondly of that ice cream shoppe. I also think of Indie publishers. If what you're thinking right now is something akin to "What you talkin' about, Willis?" I understand. But think about it. They are the modern-day Mom and Pop store. They are the place where you can find a hidden gem you can't get anywhere else, or as good or better than what you find in the big box stores. You often get more personalized service - cue the Cheers theme song - from people who appreciate every dollar you spend with them, because every dollar counts. Plus, every time I've gotten a response from feedback I've provided on a book, it was from an Indie or self-pubbed author who was grateful and excited to hear from me.

     I read something the other day on Facebook. (See, what did I tell you in my last article? You never know when something you post is exactly what someone needs.) It said something to the effect of: By supporting a Mom and Pop store, you are not buying a fifth house or a new yacht for a CEO, you are putting food on someone's table, helping them buy their kid's braces or pay their mortgage. It's the exact same thing with Indie publishers and their authors.

     Now, I'm not so much of a hypocrite that I can't admit I would love to see my book stacked prominently on a table at Barnes and Noble one day -- you know, the ones they line around the railing on the second floor and you can't help but look at every one of them on your way to the section you're heading for. But I am proud to be an Indie-published author, and will tell you that probably seventy-five percent of the books I buy are online from Indie published authors like myself. If Josh Gates, Rick Riordan and Gordon Ramsay had gone with Indie publishers, that percentage would be even higher.

     So the next time you're looking to buy a book, mosey on over to your friendly neighborhood Indie publisher's website and find yourself a gem. You might not be able to pay for it in dandelions, but you can feel good knowing you helped support not only someone's dream, but maybe even their family as well.

*pic provided courtesy of www.LittleVintageTrailer.com

Today we welcome Paisley Smith and Delilah Devlin to the Writers Gone Wild blog. They've got some sizzling reads on the docket and are here to tell us more!

Thanks to Saranna DeWylde for allowing us to hijack your blog today!

After I submitted Dark Angel, a short story that was accepted for Girls Who Bite, to Delilah Devlin, she and I enjoyed creating the world of lesbian vampires so much, we set out to write a series surrounding the legend of the infamous real-life vampire, Elizabeth Bathory.

The Femme Noir series came out of the coffin with our first book, Bitten in the Big Easy, which included two stories, one by the talented Ms. Devlin, and the other by Yours Truly. We wanted gritty, edgy lesbian heroines – vampires and their bite-ees – who claimed their kinky sexuality and weren’t afraid to admit it.

Bitten in the Big Easy

Buy Digital Book

Ellora’s Cave | ARE | B&N | Amazon

Femme Noir, Book One

Butterfly by Paisley Smith

Vampire Narcissa Csintalan is in a New Orleans bar, waiting on her tardy sister Elena, when she develops a raging fang-on for the bar’s sinfully sexy, butch bass player. The bite marks on the songbird’s neck put her at the top of Cissy’s must-feed list.

Butterfly Baudelaire has sworn off strays, but the blonde coming on to her has a killer pair of fangs and looks like she knows how to use ’em. Butterfly’s not banking on the bite Cissy takes out of her heart—or the fact that more than her well-spanked bottom is in danger from her vampire lover.

Gilded Cage by Delilah Devlin

Since her turning, Elena Csintalan has wrestled her inner demon on a nightly basis. She never expects her limits to be tested—until she finds herself drawn to a tawny woman whose lush curves make her eyeteeth spike. Before she knows it, she’s dangling inside an iron cage, one that’s frighteningly familiar. And the punishment she endures is oh so divine…

Despite a surprising empathy she feels for the vampire she’s captured, Cassia proceeds with her coven’s plan—drain Elena of her blood at the height of orgasm to complete a potion that will protect them from Elena’s maker. Cassia scried the darkness coming their way, and the monster has a name—the Countess Elizabeth Bathory.

Here’s a snippet from my story, Butterfly:

Flipping open her cell phone, Narcissa shot her sister a text. Am here. Where r u?

She looked around the bar once more, just to make certain Elena wasn’t already here scoping out prey. Two guys, obviously tourists, sat under a television, watching a baseball game. Another man removed a business card from among the thousands thumb-tacked to the wall. Blandly curious, Narcissa focused until the words on the card converged into clear view. Madame LaVeux’s Escort Service. “Everybody’s looking for something,” she muttered aloud as her gaze paused on a café au lait-skinned beauty sitting alone at a table.

Immediately, Narcissa’s attention riveted to the woman’s luscious pair of tits straining to be contained in a tight tank, with cleavage up to her chin and dark, suckable nipples visible through the mass of corkscrew curls meandering around the swollen mounds. Curvy and succulent, the woman stared back, her eyes glimmering gold in the spotlight coming from the area where the band played.

Narcissa gave her a smile and lifted her glass in silent salute. The unsmiling woman gave her one knowing nod. But she wouldn’t be Narcissa’s dessert. The Creole babe was exactly Elena’s type. Narcissa couldn’t help but shimmer with smug pleasure. Wouldn’t her sister be thrilled that she’d saved one for her—for once?

But there was something about the woman that—

“Our bass player’s gonna sing the last one,” a voice rang out over the crowd. “Give it up for Butterfly Baudelaire!”

Narcissa’s attention flicked to where a four-member band moved about on a small raised platform. The group’s bass player, a black-haired hottie, changed places with the lead singer, sidling up to the microphone then checking the knobs on her instrument. Wearing a black tank that showed off her squared shoulders and muscular, half-sleeve-tattooed arms, and a pair of shiny tight pants that fit her long, lean legs like a snake’s skin, everything about this little Butterfly called to Narcissa.

Now, this one is my type.

Wide belts draped around the girl’s boyishly narrow hips. A super-short haircut and black combat boots completed the butch beauty’s ensemble.

“Two, three, four!” She counted the band off with authority as her fingers plucked the bass strings, kicking off the first measures of a heart-thumping, bluesy song. Butterfly practically caressed the mic with her lips, leaning her head to one side so that her black bangs fell across her eyes, before opening her mouth to sing. Her voice rang out, raw and sexy, as gritty as Bourbon Street itself.

Intrigued, Narcissa watched, propping one elbow on the bar and crossing her legs so that her knees aimed at the sultry singer. And then Butterfly’s stare lifted and pinned Narcissa, unfurling through the vampire like the intoxicating warmth of the absinthe flowing into her body. Like blood.

Just the thought of disappearing into a darkened corner with this lip-smackingly Sapphic songbird made Narcissa’s barely there panties dampen. And not just that. Now she had a raging fang-on.

A trickle of perspiration trailed down the side of Butterfly’s face and Narcissa licked her lips at the thought of letting her tongue follow that salty trace right down to—

Bite marks?

Narcissa peered, drawing the wounds into focus. The mark was days old, the purplish indentations where teeth had pressed into Butterfly’s ivory skin barely visible, but there nonetheless. Instinctively, Narcissa’s tongue touched the point of one of her fangs.

She ought to retract them, to look away from the provocative spectacle on the stage. But she didn’t want to. Besides, this new New Orleans belonged to Anne Rice and Charlaine Harris and their multitudes of vampire aficionado fans. A high percentage of the people traipsing up and down Bourbon Street sported fangs, albeit fake ones.

No. If the little Butterfly liked to be nibbled on, then Narcissa was not about to be shy about the fact that she possessed the proper equipment with which to do it.

The second book in the Femme Noir series just released, and carries the story further toward the defeat of Elizabeth Bathory.  Our editor posted this quote on her blog: “Hot lesbian witches! Think about it! It’s fucking genius!” ~Charlie Sheen, Being John Malkovich

I’d say Mr. Sheen pretty well summed it up.

 

Charmed in the Big Easy 

Femme Noir, Book Two

Under the Rainbow by Paisley Smith

Novice witch MeLeah McKinney is on a mission to retrieve a talisman from the grave of Voodoo Queen Marie Laveau. The relic must be energized via a sex-magick ritual—a tall order since MeLeah has no partner. She decides to gather energy at a live sex show on Bourbon Street. She doesn’t count on help from Celestine Laveau’s ghost, who’s crossed the rainbow bridge to bring ecstasy to the young witch—and serve her own agenda.

Defeating an ancient vampire requires not one talisman, but two…

The Mambo’s Door by Delilah Devlin

Ingrid Kassel isn’t in complete control of her witch powers—especially after drinking a double shot of vampire blood. Attempting to retrieve a candle buried with the Voodoo Queen’s daughter, Ingrid angers the spirit guarding the tomb. She finds herself in a shadowy limbo, where the daughter Marie lives in fear of a demon who also desires the relic. In desperation Marie tricks Ingrid, captures her, seduces her, shows her exquisite pleasure while charging the candle with sex magick…for Marie’s own attempt at freedom from the world of the dead.

Publisher’s Note: For the greatest enjoyment, we recommend reading the books of Femme Noir in series order.

 

Buy Digital Book

Ellora’s Cave | Amazon

Here’s a little taste from Delilah’s story, The Mambo’s Door -

Ingrid gave up fighting the attraction she’d felt since the first moment she’d spied the woman sitting on the porch. Marie’s skin was a pretty café au lait, her hair was long and a lustrous, inky black. Her eyes were brown, but with golden lights that reflected the lantern’s glow. Naked, her body was a tomboy’s dream—lush, full curves above and below a trim waist. Marie’s scent ratcheted up Ingrid’s arousal—a pungent mix of herbs and patchouli that drifted over to her with the mambo’s every movement.

The invitation was there. In the half-lidded stare, the pout of her lips, the ruching of her lovely areolas.

Even the slight sway of the cabin on its stilts, the sound of water flooding slowly beneath it, as though the house were a boat drifting on a lazy sea, added an extra layer to the lush invitation. One she wasn’t going to refuse. She had nowhere to go for a few hours anyway. Why not taste the mambo’s passion?

Urgent heat raced through her body, spiking her nipples, swelling her folds. Ingrid slid off her ball cap, released her hair from its clip and shook her head to let it tumble around her shoulders. She scraped her tee from her waistband and pulled it over her head. Then there were hands helping her, pulling down the cups of her bra to bare her breasts.

Ingrid laughed and tossed away her shirt, then unsnapped the bra and let it fall away. She unbuckled her belt, toed off her sneakers and stood while Marie dipped to shove her jeans down her legs.

When she was nude, the two women walked hand in hand to the bed and lay down facing each other.

Marie rubbed Ingrid’s nipple. “It’s been so long. C’est bien.”

“I thought time had no meaning here.”

“Even before. I took male lovers with deep pockets. So much easier to manipulate. My mouth on their cocks enslaved them.”

“I’ll bet.” Ingrid bit her lower lip.

“I’ll bet you’d like my mouth here, wouldn’t you, gal?” Marie asked, thumbing a turgid tip.

Ingrid smoothed a hand over the deep curve of Marie’s waist. “Maybe a kiss of introduction first?”

Marie’s mouth stretched. “Come closer, li’l witch.”

Ingrid inched over until their breasts mashed together, warm skin to warm skin, jutting points scraping. In the glow of the oil lamp their skin was burnished a lovely pale gold and deeper amber.

Marie’s eyes glittered, then she closed them, leaning closer to press her lips against Ingrid’s. Ingrid opened, sighing as the other woman’s tongue stroked her bottom lip then slid inside.

A niggling thought slipped into her mind, that she was making love with a dead woman. One she’d just met and whose kiss set her nerve endings tingling and her belly cramping with desire. How much of it was this place? How much the vampire blood that gave her this desperate hunger?

None of that mattered, not the deeper the kiss went.

About Paisley Smith

Paisley Smith is a full time freelance writer and can usually be found in front of her computer either writing, chatting, promoting or plotting. It’s a glamorous life…working in one’s pajamas.

She attended college in the Deep South where she obtained a slew of totally useless degrees and developed an unrelenting sense of humor.

Her books can be found at Ellora’s Cave , Loose Id, and Cleis Press!

About Delilah Devlin

Delilah Devlin dated a Samoan, a Venezuelan, a Turk, a Cuban, and was engaged to a Greek before marrying her Irishman. She's lived in Saudi Arabia, Germany, and Ireland, but calls Texas home for now. Ever a risk taker, she lived in the Saudi Peninsula during the Gulf War, thwarted an attempted abduction by white slave traders, and survived her children's juvenile delinquency.

Creating alter egos for herself in the pages of her books enables her to live new adventures. Since discovering the sinful pleasure of erotica, she writes to satisfy her need for variety--it keeps her from running away with the Indian working in the cubicle beside her!
In addition to writing erotica, she enjoys creating romantic comedies and suspense novels.

Dream a Little Dream for Me.....

Liane Gentry Skye for Writers Gone Wild

It's summer time, and if you're a mom who writes, you understand what I mean without my having to wax poetic.  When it comes to my time, kids win, hands down, every time.  What's a writer to do?  Give up sleep apparently.

My lack of sleep is showing in my mirror, too.  Sometimes it's hard to write about nubile heroines chasing muscle bound lovers when all I want to do is put a paper bag over my own head and hide from the bad hair and woefully neglected complexion.  Worse, my house runneth over with my daughter's friends who are all around eighteen, and by virtue of their age, effortlessly beautiful.  Think cow patty in a field of violets. Yeah, the cow patty is me! :)

Maybe my urge to crawl deeper into said paper sack explaines the fact that my newest heroine in my work in progress feels anything but attractive.  My heroine is an ex ballerina. Disfigured in an accident and barely able to tolerate human touch, she works nights as a wardrobe mistress for the Bolshoi Ballet. Firmly ensconced in a glittering world that once embraced her as a star, she now lurks about the shadows, invisible and forgotten.  But the ex-ballerina in her still longs for the dance, so at night, when everyone else has left the building, my poor Desya takes to the empty stage to recall the lover who dances with her only in her memories.  Little does she know someone is watching until one day, she finds a note on her sewing table.  Dance for me again...

I know I'm taking a lot of risks with this book, the foremost being that my heroine is far from beautiful. I certainly don't intend to give her some miracle surgery to help her conform with the physical expectations of her world.  In a lot of ways, Desya is a projection of how I'm feeling about my own appearance and ability to claim my own dreams right now. 

Do your emotions impact the heroines you long to write or read about?  And when those desires take you into the territory of a disfigured heroine, are you ever tempted to put the book down?  This writer gone wild wants to know!

Deadlines

DEADLINES  by Maree Anderson  (for Writers Gone Wild)

Hi all,

Deadlines. They're pesky critters. We map out our allotted time, spread out the workload, congratulate ourselves for being so organized, think we have all the time in the world... and then they creep up on us and pounce. They take us by the scruff of the neck and shake us until we're a quivering mass of "OMG, I'm NEVER gonna get this done in time! Aaaaaargh!"

I've heard authors say they work better under pressure. There's no opportunity for your inner editor to start yammering in your ear because you just have to get those words down as quickly as you can. I've heard authors say deadlines are hell on their creative process but they've learned to push through them. Pantsers have become plotters from sheer necessity. Hitting daily word counts becomes paramount. 

Deadlines are part and parcel of the publishing world. We all just suck it up and deal. 

But what happens when you decide to be your own boss, and you call all the shots? What happens when you're the author and the publisher? Surely you can wave buh-bye to those pesky deadlines and just cruise, right? 

I wish. 

I've self-published five books since I started this adventure in August last year. Granted they were already completed manuscripts, but three of them required a major point of view rewrites (from first person heroine's POV, to third person hero and heroine's POV.) Not so punishing as writing a new story from scratch, but still a bit of a mission. And here's the thing: each time I published another book, rather than taking a break to smell the roses and celebrate, I'd dive right into the next. It was a compulsion. I couldn't help it. I'm not sure why. Maybe it's an ingrained habit?

You see, BIGP (Before I Got Published) I worked to self-imposed deadlines. It was just something I did. And man, those babies were as real to me as any publisher's deadline. No industry professional cared if I didn't send in that query or partial or full manuscript. No contest coordinator cared if I didn't get than entry in on time. Nobody gave a toss if I goofed off and finished reading that book instead of writing. I knew this, but it didn't matter. The sense of urgency I felt as my fake deadline loomed was very real, and I would get cranky--very very cranky--if anything happened to throw me off my self-imposed schedule.

Currently I'm writing a sequel to Freaks of Greenfield High, and you'd better believe this dedicated pantser plotted the entire story out first, and has a self-imposed deadline looming. In fact, I'm hating on writing this blog post because I soooo want to dive back into my story. (40k down, around 30k to go--Woohoo! So close I can taste it!)

I have fans asking for more Crystal Warriors, and I'm thinking OMG, that's great!!! Actual fans who've loved the first three books so much they want me to write more? How freaking amazing is that??? And ideas are starting to zing around in my head for a 4th book, and I know it's gonna get to a stage when I *have* to write it or go nuts. But... I really wanted to rewrite that fantasy trilogy that's been languishing on my hard-drive and skew it more toward YA before I tackled another "new" story. This trilogy is preying on my mind, demanding to be worked on. I *have* to do it. And--

OMG, I need a clone!!!

Since that's not exactly a viable option, self-imposed deadlines here I come. And yanno what? I'm grateful to have made them a habit and incorporated them into my daily writing life because if not for deadlines, I'm such a bookworm I'd have my nose permanently stuck in a book. I think my record to date is having read 30 books in one month. If not for those self-imposed deadlines, I'd laze round on my bed and read all day and never get any writing done! Well, at least until my Muse delivered a swift kick up the bum and reminded me how miserable I get, and what a wretched person I am to live with, when I'm not writing ;-)

So what're you like with deadlines?

• Do you need them to get anything done?
• Or do you just go with the flow and everything that needs doing somehow gets done? (I promise I'll try not to hate you too much *g*)

:-)

Maree

Hello Writer's Gone Wild Friends & Fans!

Happy Hump day to you!
I'm tickled pink to be here, on this, my very first post with THE lovely ladies of Writer's Gone Wild. I am, as the title says, most definitely a Writer Gone Wild (I even have wild and crazy hair - I was made for this group!). But I'm wild in a good way - I think.

Just to make sure I stay wild in a positive vs. medicated sense, I'm taking a 'Mental Health Day'... or two or three. What's that you ask?

Think Ferris Bueller's Day Off and you get the picture. Playing hooky also works, but it doesn't give the same professional/respectable vibe.

Granted mine probably won't have a parade or any crashing of cars (God I HOPE not!), but it will have evening nightcaps, sleeping in, and blissfully reading about the yummy leading fellas found in my mountainous TBR of waiting romance and erotica novels...

Since my mountain isn't nearly as high as it should be, I thought I'd put out a call for suggestions.
Read anything toe-curling? Shortness of breath inducing? Heat in the pit of your belly - fanning self - goodness? Go ahead and share with the group...

Yes, I'd like a great story too :)

Oh, and FYI, I haven't read Fifty Shades of Grey. Part of me doesn't want to because everyone seems to think I need to. I mean, is it REALLY that good? SO, leave me comments and let me know!

Was that in the job description?

Jenna McCormick for Writers Gone Wild
So I spent most of Monday morning looking at porn. Now, before you call me a big pervert (which I am but is totally beside the point) you should know I was trundling through the tumbler archives for various adult blogs because I'm trying to track down the source of a photo. Not just any photo, but THE perfect photo for Zan and Gia from my upcoming futuristic erotic romance No Mercy. It's racy but no more so than the cover of No Limits, all the really naughty bits are covered. On a porn scale, this is definitely softcore with a fuzzy romantic edge.



Ah, I see I've got your interest. Wanna see? Doya doya doya? Sure you do, pervert. ;-)

Le freakin' sigh, they are perfect. The mood, the passion.... I want to live in this photo the same way I lived in that book while writing it. And I would definitely like to show it to the cover artist over at Kensington to see if maybe something similar can be done for the book cover. This photo is definitely worth my 80,000 words on the space pirate and his lady love.

Hence, the headfirst dive into porn central. I'm waiting for a response from the latest tumbler poster, hoping like hell she can tell me who owns the photo because I need permission from the copyright holder to use the photo and that's only if the Kensington design team agrees. But it's worth it to me to spend my morning looking for a way to make this possible, even if it means I'm up to my eyeballs in T&A.

Let me just say, after all this research I have some new positions to try and describe for upcoming works. Porn does not equal erotic romance. Porn is about body parts where erotic romance is about intense emotion demonstrated in a physical way. Though I've often used it to inspire erotic romance. Without the emotion, it's all tab A and slot B or C or...yeah, you get my drift. Waste not, want not, especially when it comes to my writing time. 

So what's the strangest thing you've ever done/been asked to do for your job?

Good Morning!

Good Morning!

I have over 775 friends on Facebook, from over 40 different countries and on six continents. Of those, I probably personally know about 200, consisting of 'real life' friends, fellow writers I've met online but consider dear friends, and fans of my writing whom I've had the pleasure of interacting and becoming friends with. Then there are probably another twenty-five or so that are book review bloggers I like to follow. The remaining 550 are people who've friended me, who I'm assuming have read my writing and want to know what I'm up to, and I'm immensely grateful for every one of them.

There've also been at least four European or Middle Eastern men who have randomly friended me and started pinging me until I convinced them I was married or I blocked them. Still not sure whether to be flattered or freaked out by that. We're going to go with flattered, with a hint of creeped.

I see a lot of silliness float across my newsfeed and my wall, because procrastination - thy name is Facebook. Frivolous stuff like eCard sayings, YouTube videos, manipulated pictures of their favorite actor's face Photoshopped onto a porn star's naked body (love those!) - things that make you smile, or make you think, or make you cringe. But every once in a while something happens on Facebook that is remarkable. It gives me the ability to pay it forward.

I've had readers/friends ask me to help them with their college essays, which I did gladly and was moved by what they wrote. I've had a teacher ask me if they could have permission to use my work as an example in their creative writing class. I've donated or contributed to several charities I never would have known about otherwise. And twice I've had someone tell me that they were in a dark place in their life, but that reading my story gave them something to hold onto, something to make them smile and live another day, if for no other reason than to see how the story ended. I can't begin to tell you the impact those two people had on my life. One of them I became close with and she is so special to me now I send her virtual hugs all the time, just because. The other I lost track of, but I think of her often and hope that she found another story to get her through the next week, and that she took my advice and got help.

It makes you really think about not only the power of the written word, but the power of social media. Everything you say, even if it's just 'Good Morning!' has an impact, possibly all over the world. You never know when that poem you decided to share may be just the message someone you've never met needed to hear, or if that joke popped up on someone's screen when they most needed to laugh.

In an age where cyberbullying is a real issue, I choose to focus on the good side of social networking, the way it brings strangers together. There's a reason Facebook calls it 'friending' someone when you add them to your network.

I met my friends here at Writers Gone Wild online. They are truly my friends in every sense of the word, and I'm so grateful they've asked me to join WGW.

I hope that in the future, my posts here will make you smile, or make you think, or make you hot under the collar, but never make you cringe. And come friend me on Facebook - I want to hear your jokes.

:-)
Lillie