Time is not on your side…

Last week, in my post about the book cover faux pas, I listed the writing projects I have in the works.  A couple of my readers asked how I had time to write like that.  The short answer is:  I have no life.  Ok, that’s a joke, sort of.  Many of us who are trying to live the writing life are fitting it into an already busy schedule.  How does someone with a day job manage to carve out time in the day to write?  Schedules vary, but there are some principle to apply.

One of my writing heroes is Nora Roberts. She has written over 209 romance novels in her illustrious career. Now, I see you all turning your noses up at romance novels, but quit it! The genre is underrated by literary snobs for no good reason. Jane Austen was a romance writer. So were the Bronte sisters, Margaret Mitchell, Gustave Flaubert, F. Scott Fitzgerald, Edith Wharton – need I say more?

Back to Nora – PBS (Public Broadcasting System, for those of you outside the USA and a true bastion of the arts) did an interview with her a couple years ago and it made a big impression on me. She said she approaches her writing like any other person would approach their work day. She gets up early, exercises, puts the coffee pot on and by 8:00, she is at her desk to write for an 8 hour day! That’s right, an 8 hour day. It’s a job, people. A very, very fun job, but a job nonetheless.

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I have tried to impose that kind of discipline upon my writing. Every weekday, I get up early and write for an hour or so, exercise and go to the office to see my patients.* Tuesday and Thursday, the days I don’t have office hours, I keep on writing.  (So that’s how she does it!)  I set deadlines to keep from getting off track.  I have writing goals for my novel series, for my blog and for an unrelated project which I hope wins me the Pulitzer. Just kidding…  Unknown.jpeg

Anyway, the trick is to be analytical and slightly selfish when it comes to your writing. Take a look at your weekly schedule. How much time do you spend in front of the TV? Playing video games? Fooling around on Facebook and Twitter? I know, I know, I do it, too. This is time you could be spending on your writing. On the other hand, don’t let your writing become so burdensome that you lose your joy. After a big project is complete, or sometimes in the middle when you’re hitting the wall, take a break, step back and recharge your batteries.

Here are some things you should NOT sacrifice for time to write:

-your spouse/partner and children  (unless you secretly can’t stand them)
-your health and wellness: take time to exercise, drink plenty of water and eat healthy food – it powers your brain  (also booze, but that’s a subject for it’s own post)
-your spiritual life: whatever that means to you, be it meditation, prayer, or just quiet time to think  (and have a legitimate excuse to ignore your family)
-reading for pleasure: writers need to read, period
-spending time with friends  (if you still have any)

Why that last one? Because frankly, writers spend a lot of time in our own heads and can invent our own friends by writing them. I am totally guilty of that.  While that internal chatter is essential for good writing, you have to turn it off once in a while.  Don’t give up the chance to have real life human connections in order to create your fantasy world.

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Writers, the bottom line is if you are going to do this, you have to make it a priority. It has to be important to you. It can’t get shuffled so far to the bottom of the pile that you never finish anything. If you find that happening to you ALL THE TIME, then reevaluate your plan to be a writer. Maybe the writing life is not for you. That’s ok, too. Be a reader. After all, someone’s got to read all this stuff we write!

How about the rest of you?  Writers, how do you find time to write?

*I am a Doctor of Chiropractic in solo practice in the Philadelphia suburbs.  As always, some of that was meant to be humorous.  I assume you’re all savvy enough to pick out the useful stuff from the nonsense.

Run For Cover

Or Diary Of a New Writer – Faux Pas Edition!  Oh well, if you can’t laugh at yourself, someone else might as well laugh at you, right?

Ah, book cover design.  Remember how I said it was the fun part?  I should have known some of my words would come back to haunt me.   Because it’s turned into a nightmare!  (Ok, that’s a little dramatic…  NO, it’s not!  Waah!)  Book three of my series is finished.  I’ve done everything I can possibly do to it.  I’ve had the beta readers preview and proof read.  My friend Kevin (of former publishing house fame) is back in town and I might pester him for one final look.  After that it’s time to upload it.  But there’s a problem…

Pay attention, everyone that read Diary of a New Writer!  I discovered last week, purely by chance (and thank goodness I did), what it feels like when another writer uses the same template for their cover from the on line cover creator!

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Ugh!  Serves me right for being a cheap ass.  And what’s worse?  It was for a dining guide!  *Smacks forehead*  Anyway, the obvious solution is to try, try again.  Enter the awesome folks at NCS Studios.  It’s time to quit messing around and do this right.  I have an appointment on Monday.

First, we’re going to work on a brand new cover for, Run For It, Book Three in the Bucks County novels.  Then we will revisit Three Empty Frames and Seeing Red.  Because, you guessed it, I used the same template for both of them!  (Idiot)

Remember the trouble I was having uploading the cover to Smashwords?  How I was being denied from their premium catalog?  This is going to fix that, too.  With a professionally designed cover, image quality won’t be an issue.  This will allow the series to be pushed out to iBooks, Nook and Kobo.  And that is a really cool thing for a series writer.

At least the novel is finished, all 87,000+ words of it.  If you’re curious, I wrote a short story prequel to it, earlier this month.  I might do one more before the book comes out.  Now I have to work on my blurb and update my author biography.  I might actually have some professional photos done.  (With a fuzzy lens so I look like Diane Lane in 1999!  Bah!)

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Isn’t she gorgeous?  Look at those boobs!

While the pros work their magic, I’ll get back to writing.  Book four is nearly finished, I’m making notes for book five.  My World War One novel is brewing in the cauldron on the back burner.  No wonder I’m tired…

(Images courtesy google images and IMBD)

Jimmy Buffett – Sunday’s Song Lyric

“The weather is here, I wish you were beautiful

The skies are too clear, life’s easy today

The beer is too cold, the daiquiri’s too fruitful

There’s no place like home when it’s this far away

I don’t care what they say”  –  The Weather Is Here, Wish You Were Beautiful, Jimmy Buffett (Coconut Telegraph 1981)

A short story

It had taken Kerry Donovan 18 hours to reach St. Martha’s Cove, Florida.  His parents had moved to the tiny Gulf Coast town after retiring a few years back.  Since then, Kerry and his brother Leo had taken over their father’s construction business.  The sun was just lightening the sky as Kerry pulled into his parents’ driveway.  They weren’t expecting him.  He had thrown some clothes in a duffel bag and taken off without telling anyone where he was going.  Leo was going to be pissed.

Ryan Donovan was sitting on the front porch with his coffee and the newspaper.  He tossed it aside and stood when he heard the crunch of gravel.   Kerry saw him open the front door and yell inside.  No doubt announcing to his wife, Sophie, their son’s unplanned arrival. Kerry cut the engine and got out.

“Kerry,”  his father said, striding over and pulling him in for a hug.  “What the hell’s going on, son?  You ok?  Is it Leo?”  He gripped Kerry by the shoulders and stared at him hard.  “Brianna.”  He muttered a curse.  “What happened?”

Kerry gave him a shaky smile.  “I took her over to show her the house.”

“What?  She didn’t like it?”  Ryan asked.  “You’ve got to be kidding me!”

Sophie Donovan ran outside, still in her pajamas and bare feet.  “Sweetheart!  What on earth…?”  she began.  “Come inside, you look exhausted.  We can talk over coffee.”  She held Kerry’s arm and led him to the house, peppering him with questions the whole way.  Ryan got Kerry’s bag from the truck and followed them inside.

Sophie directed her son to the kitchen table and set a cup of coffee in front of him.  “Now, tell us what’s going on,” she ordered.

Kerry covered his face with his hands, resting his elbows on the table before speaking.  “She called off the wedding.”

“What?!?”  Sophie cried.  “With only three weeks to go?  Oh, sweetie, why?”

Kerry rubbed his eyes.  They felt like sandpaper.  “She’s decided she can’t spend the rest of her life with me.”

“Why the hell did she say yes in the first place?”  Ryan growled.  “It’s not like this was a whirlwind romance.  You guys have been dating for almost two years.”

“I don’t know, Dad,”  Kerry sighed.  “I’ve been asking myself that question for the past 18 hours.”  He gave them the whole story, detail by sordid detail.  “That’s it.  We’re finished.”

“Did you tell your brother?”  Ryan asked.

Kerry shook his head.  “No.” He paused and blew out a breath.    “Not ready for the pity party.”

“Well, you can stay here for as long as you like, dear,”  Sophie said patting his hand.  “But you have to call Leo and tell him.  He’ll be worried.”

“Yeah.  Not right now, ok?”  He drained his coffee cup and stood.  “So can I bunk over the garage or do I have to squeeze into that closet you call a spare room?”

“The rooms over the garage are all yours, sweetie.  Let me go get you some towels and sheets,”  his mother said, rising.  “Then I’ll fix you breakfast.”

“Sounds good, Mom.”

***

The setting sun shining through the west-facing window finally roused Kerry from his slumber.  He trudged into the bathroom and splashed cold water on his face.  His dark stubble was past the five o’clock shadow stage but he couldn’t have cared less.  On returning to the bedroom, he checked his phone.  There were three missed calls, all from Leo, and one voicemail.  Maybe he’d try and sweet talk his mom into calling Leo back for him.

He pulled a pair of cargo shorts out of his duffel bag and tucked the phone in one of the pockets.  His parents’ bungalow was quiet when he entered through the lanai in the back of the house.  “Mom?  Dad?”  he called out.  No response.  He found a note in the kitchen,  ‘Kerry, we ran out for some extra supplies.  Shouldn’t be gone too long.  Help yourself to whatever you find in the fridge.  Love, Mom.’

He opened the fridge, didn’t see anything that caught his fancy.  He felt like a big greasy burger and about a gallon of beer.  He ran back upstairs for his wallet, left a note for his parents and walked toward the town, looking for a bar.

He found a place facing the beach, right on the edge of town, called Martha’s Tavern.  At first, he thought it was named for St. Martha’s Cove but as he got closer, he saw in smaller letters beneath the sign:  ‘And this Martha ain’t no saint’.  He chuckled.  This was just what he was looking for.  He poked his head in the door and saw a few customers sitting at the bar, a few more playing pool in a small room off to the side.  It looked like a mix of locals and a couple of stray tourists.  He found an open seat at the bar and sat down.

A mountain of a woman came over to take his order.  She was at least six feet tall and built like a line backer.  She had a mass of black hair pulled back in a braid and the tattoo of a snake coiling from her thick wrist to her impressive bicep.  She smirked at Kerry’s shocked expression.  “Somethin’ a matter, sugar?”  she drawled.

Kerry blinked and mentally smacked himself.  “Uh, no, no.  Nothing’s the matter.”

“Aw, a Yankee boy.  You down a visit, honey?”

“Uh, yeah, my folks live here,” he replied.

She cocked her head to the side, swinging her long dark braid behind her.  “You sure they ain’t nothin’ wrong, darlin’?”  she asked.  “Lemme getcha a drink and you can tell me ’bout it.  Whatcha havin’?”

Three shots and three beers later, Kerry’s head was spinning.  He hadn’t eaten anything since his mother had forced breakfast on him that morning.  Martha had matched him shot for shot and didn’t seem fazed in the least.  Before she set his fourth beer in front of him, she went back to the kitchen and returned with a big burger on a kaiser roll, a pile of fries and a pickle.  “Chow down, honey.  Else I’ll have to call you daddy to come getcha.”

Kerry shook his head to clear it.  “How’d you know…?”

She laughed and patted his hand.  Kerry dug into the food while Martha moved down the length of the bar to take care of her other customers.  He groaned with pleasure – this might be the best burger he’d ever had.  Getting a little food in his belly helped to clear his head somewhat, too.  When Martha had refilled everyone’s drinks she came back to Kerry and leaned in close.  “You wanna talk about it?”  she asked gently.  “Might help.”

Kerry found himself pouring out the whole story.  How he’d bought an old run-down house and remodeled it for his new bride.  The time and attention he’d put into restoring every detail in the beautiful Craftsman style bungalow.  Hardwood floors, wood trim, tile in the kitchens and bathrooms.  Stained glass in the window of the front door.  It was his wedding present to her and she’d dumped him on the front porch.

“That girl be crazy, let a handsome young fella like you get away.”  Martha patted his cheek.  “She don’t deserve ya.  That’s what.  You better off without her.”

The phone in Kerry’s pocket vibrated.  It was probably his mom worrying that he wasn’t home yet.  He answered without looking at the caller ID.  “Hello.”

“Kerry, it’s me,”  Brianna said quietly.  “Can we talk?”

Kerry’s stomach knotted and the shock must’ve shown on his face because Martha frowned.  “What do you want Bri?”

“Kerry, I’ve been thinking…  Maybe… maybe you were right, I was just getting cold feet.  I’m sorry.  I’ve made a huge mistake.  Can you forgive me?  Will you please let me come over so we can talk?”

“Forgive you?  Come over?”  Kerry repeated into the phone.  “Just like that?”  He swallowed hard.  “Bri, I’m in Florida at my parents’ house.”

Across the bar from him, Martha mouthed “That her?” and Kerry nodded.  Martha snatched the phone away from him and hung it up.  “Hey!”  Kerry protested.

“No good a come from that, sugar.  She just sweet talk ya into takin’ her sorry ass back.”  She pushed a fresh beer in front of him.  “You will find the right girl, doncha worry none.  In the meantime, set a spell and keep ole Martha company.” She wiggled her eyebrows.  “Who knows, maybe you’ll meet somebody here.”

Kerry drank deeply from his pint glass and shook his head.  Then for the first time in the last 36 hours, he smiled.  Yeah, he would be all right.  He could stay here, fish in the gulf, get himself a tan and help his Dad fix up that old boat he’d bought.  Leo could manage without him for a while.  Winter was coming and business would slow down anyway.  Besides, the weather here was beautiful.  And even better, Brianna was 1100 miles away.

Kerry was concentrating on his burger when someone slid onto the stool next to his. He turned his head, intending to be polite and found himself face to face with a stunning brunette.   He managed a smile and forced himself to keep his eyes from drifting south to her sinful curves.  With thick black hair, huge dark eyes and full kissable lips, she was breathtaking. She smiled and Kerry went weak in the knees.  Martha cleared her throat,  “Sugar? Lemme introduce you to my baby sister.”