Lent and the Distracted Writer

Yes, folks.  Mardi Gras is over.  Ash Wednesday is here, and the forty days of penance.  As in, fish on Fridays.  Giving up sweets.  Or soda.  Or alcohol.

Being Catholic, I’m asked to give something up for Lent every year.  One year, I gave up gossip.  Another year, I gave up saying bad things about people.  This year, I’m wondering if I should try to give up what I personally believe is one of the biggies.  It’s a real monkey on my back.

Being distracted.

I am a champion at being distracted.  I don’t like to turn off my wireless, partly because I’ve always allowed myself to believe that it can be hard to turn back on.  I love to look things up, to research, to collects tidbits of information.  I’ve studied cosmetics, perfumes and knitting with the intensity of a day trader.  Also, what if something really important comes through on my email?  What if I miss it?   I have things to do, and often allow myself to think that those are super important.  More important, even, than the work I sat down to do.  Writing.

So, how do I not be distracted?  How do I not look around the room and see the things that need to be picked up.  Turn down the brain-chatter in my head that nags me to get that load of laundry on, check on that bill, hang that coat up, try out that miraculous anti-aging serum?

Because if I can just get those things done, I will be productive!  Right?

Wrong.  If I get those things done, I have done those things.  And I will have allowed myself not to write, yet again.

Again, how do I turn down the distracted side of my head?

In Pressfield’s The War of Art, he calls this PROCRASTINATION. Procrastination, he says, is everything that keeps us from our work.  The Bible addresses it in Corinthians: “whatever you do, do it with your whole heart,” and encourages us to keep in mind that we are working for a higher power.  FlyLady.net starts every year with a new reminder.  This year’s is “Perfectionism is shelved in 2012.”  You can do anything for fifteen minutes!  And it doesn’t have to be perfect.  Just do it.

So.  It is possible.  I have Pressfield, God, and Marla Cilley at my back to keep me on the straight and narrow.  With that in mind, I will do the right thing.  I will turn off the wireless.  I will resolve to do my job with my whole heart.  I will set the timer for fifteen minutes, rest, and repeat, and forgive myself up front for not being perfect.  This is my Lenten resolution.

Do you get distracted?

Checks out this link for more, uhm, encouragement.  Honest, he says it so much better than I ever will:  http://electricliterature.com/blog/2011/07/25/dont-read-this

Look Ma! I have a process!

I was torn about what to write about today. Life has been crazy for me lately and I’ve not had a lot of time to think about blogging here today.

Now, the stuff I’ve been doing is the fun stuff:  incorporating myself as a writing business, signing my contract with Entangled, getting new headshots taken (see one to the right), and filling out the cover art fact sheet for my book (my favorite question was the one that asked what I didn’t want on my book cover.  (The first thing that came to mind was, “cowboys, babies, and the Cialis bathtubs”)

I also received a rejection. Not fun. But after a one-night pity party with the Mermaids, I got back up on Seabiscuit and got to work. I sent that manuscript to another publisher and now I wait.

And the EDJ (evil day job) . . .  let’s not go there.  In fact, I don’t want to go there right now. Again, working through some stuff which will likely work out but it’s a pain getting there.

But, even with all this stuff needing to get done the thing I was struggling with was writing.  And, it was driving me crazy! See, I decided that I needed to change how I did this writing thing.

Why?

Not.  A. Clue.

So, I decided to monkey with the system and do it differently. Change it up. Get jiggy with it.

And, I couldn’t get it done. Couldn’t make progress. Nothing.

So, in a moment of brilliance I trashed everything I had done and went back to the tried a true.  I wrote my bulletized plot outline. I started on page one instead of in the middle. And . . . voila! . . . I was writing!

So, what’s the moral of that story?

Don’t mess with what’s working.  There is no set way to write a book. No right way. No wrong way

Just my way.

What’s yours?

Robin

 

 

 

 

 

UPDATE: Since so many people commented on my boots. Here they are up close. I love them . . .

The Mr. Flynn is Fabulous Giveaway!

So you know how I wrote about one of my most romantic moments ever earlier this week? Well, someone must have alerted the handsome Mr. Flynn because he surprised me with a one-night getaway sans children for Valentine’s Day. He made all the arrangements – including overnight childcare – without me knowing anything.

When he dropped the news, I didn’t believe him. Mr. Flynn is a lot of things, but Mr. Romantic isn’t one of them – or so I thought. So in honor of the hottest, smartest, funniest, most romantic man ever, here is today’s Waterworld Mermaid giveaway.

The Mr. Flynn is Fabulous Giveaway!

One lucky commenter will win a signed copy of Up a Dry Creek and a $10 iTunes gift card (open to U.S. residents only). How do you win? Answer this question by 11:59 p.m. EST Sunday Feb. 19: Who is your fictional boyfriend?

Happy Valentine’s Week – Day Four

Happy Valentine’s Week from the Waterworld Mermaids!!!

Here in our lovely mermaid lagoon, we are all abuzz with the holiday of love. And because we’re in such a happy mood, we wanted to share some stories and memories from mermaid-pasts. Best of all, we’re celebrating all week long! We hope you enjoy!

Love can be messy.  It’s not always presented to us neatly, wrapped all pretty with a cute little bow on top. But there are those people, and those precious moments, that remind us it’s all worth it….

 

Sunday Afternoon
Susan Andrews

She’d been cutting his hair for years.  Well, not all the years – there was the time she’d put a ten dollar bill in his hand and, at his look of surprise, said, “It’s a gift.  You’re going out.”  Then deflated his pleasure when she added, “For a haircut.”  But that was long ago.  After so many years together, things were different.  No more surprises in this marriage.

Now she cut it again.  Every few weeks, she would notice the sparse hair on the top of his head resembled dandelion fluff.  He was an easy man to please, and shorter was better.  They’d gotten used to the occasional fumbles, the one spot that got away every time and spoiled the symmetry.  His hair was too fine for a perfect haircut, and his simple gratitude for any style that didn’t include a comb-over was sufficient.

They worked well together.  She got out the sheet and kicked aside the bathroom rugs.  He retrieved a kitchen chair and shed his flannel shirt.  They understood the need for cooperation.  Things worked better that way.

The clipper (bought for their son’s first haircut long ago) ran up the back of his head, the hairs making a pleasant brrrrrr asthey succumbed to the blade’s vibration.  The fluff fell against her hand, tickling at her fingers.  It cascaded down across his shoulders, a mix of dark and gray hairs.  Gone.  The curls she’d played with, the widow’s peak.  What was left?

“Your hair still grows fast. It’s long enough in the back to curl a little.”  Brrrrrrr.

“There’s not enough to let it be long.  Shorter is better.”

“Hmmm.  Tip your head?”  She pressed a hand against his temple and felt its warmth under her fingertips.  His head angled to one side as he waited for her to carve the outline around his ear.  Don’t knick the ear.  She coached herself through the steps.  Back. Change. Front.

Especially since she loved that ear.  The pretty shell, so neatly formed, delicate in contrast to the musculature of the man.  Not as pretty now, with the lobe gone fleshy.  Still…

She bent, her hands braced against his shoulder, and kissed the ear.  He flinched under the sheeting, surprised.  She’d broken the pattern.  Awkward, having to crouch, but her lips found the tip and pressed against it again.

She stood again, met his eyes in the mirror.  “I love you.”

“Love you, too.”  He couldn’t move, his body shrouded in a twin-size sheet.  She could, though, and bent to kiss his lips.  A good match.  All these years, and she was surprised that she still believed in the us they’d become.  “She chose wisely,” she joked against his lips.

She felt his mouth curve under hers.  “He got lucky.”

She laughed and set the clipper down, picked up the brush to flick the stray bits from his neck and face.  “We could both get lucky if you help me clean this up.”

He pushed against the twin sheet as she unwound it, scrubbed his hands against his face and down his neck.  Then he stood to wrap her in his arms.  Warm, firm, strong.  His hands found the muscles in her back that were too-often tight and soothed them.

“Thanks.”  His lips still had the power to send a spiral down into her tummy.  He lifted his head.  “Pizza for dinner?”

“You?”

“Me.”  His hand trailed down her side and tickled under the hem of her shirt.  A promise.  “I’ll get the broom.”

She knew she would find the one spot on his head that had escaped her.  At some point in the evening, she would run her hand across the crown of his head and find the baby-fine patch that had hidden.  Unruly.  Disobedient.  Sooner or later, she would have to deal with it.

Later on, she found it.  “There it is.”  Their feet were tangled in the blankets, their hands still exploring.

“Oh.”  His eyes were lazy now, but amused.  “You found the spot?”

“It got away from me.”  She nudged the puff of hair.  “I’ll have to get the scissors out.”

He slipped his hands under her and kissed her again.  “Do it later.”

 

We hoped you enjoyed our stories this week. We loved sharing them with you! Come back tomorrow for a fantastic giveaway!

 

 

Happy Valentine’s Week – Day Three

Happy Valentine’s Week from the Waterworld Mermaids!!!

Here in our lovely mermaid lagoon, we are all abuzz with the holiday of love. And because we’re in such a happy mood, we wanted to share some stories and memories from mermaid-pasts. Best of all, we’re celebrating all week long! We hope you enjoy!

Ever notice how love can inspire music and music often has a hand in love? Whether the feelings are between significant others or family members, today’s stories mix these two beautiful things – love and music….

 

Songs in the Key of Love
Denny S. Bryce

He had a voice like smooth raw silk—deep and rich and soft and strong. When he sang, with his lips next to my ear, his breath was warm and cool, and always made me smile.

He loved to sing. He would burst into song anywhere, any time. When we sat in the car at the gas pump, or as we shopped for groceries, or walked across the football field after he’d coached a game.

It took a few months, but eventually, I joined in and sang the words I knew to whatever song he was singing. But my voice never sounded as good as his. So I mostly sat back and let him sing to me. He liked it best that way.

He wasn’t showing off. No, but sometimes talking didn’t do what he wanted it to do. His words weren’t as good as the lyrics on the radio. It was easier to say what he wanted to say with a song.

So he’d serenade me.

After a while, I stopped noticing when he sang, or that he wasn’t singing as much anymore.

Then one night we were in the car driving back from, or driving off to, somewhere, and a Stevie Wonder song came on the radio. It was from a 1976 album, Songs in the Key of Life, one of my favorites from back in the day.

He pulled over to the side of the road, and started singing…

“As”.

If you’re not familiar, here are some of the lyrics…

You know what I say is true
That I’ll be loving you always

(Until the rainbow burns the stars out in the sky)
Always
(Until the ocean covers every mountain high)
Always
(Until the dolphin flies and parrots live at sea)
Always
(Until we dream of life and life becomes a dream)

Did you know that true love asks for nothing
No no her acceptance is the way we pay
Did you know that life has given love a guarantee
To last through forever and another day

Well, let’s just say, I started listening again…and heard every word when he sang.

Happy Valentine’s Day!

 

Song from the Heart
Masha Levinson

This thing I hold in my arms is more like a loaf of bread than a baby.  And not one of those pretty loaves either.  He’s all beat up looking.  Black and blue.  As if he’d been in a fight and is now sleeping off a horrid hangover.  Except unlike most drunks, this one isn’t staying quiet.  He’s screaming as if belting out a tune for the cheap seats at Lincoln Center.  And it’s 2:30 in the morning.  And I’m tired.  And cranky.  And I want to go to sleep.  And he won’t cooperate.  The spindles from the creaky rocking chair are digging into my back.  My arm, the one his lumpy head is resting on, has long ago fallen asleep. Why won’t this kid sleep?

It’s half an hour later when his eyelids begin to flutter up and down.  Small veins weave around his translucent skin.  His fragility amazes me.  Twenty minutes later, he’s finally asleep.  I exhale.  As if holding the rarest of gems, I will my body off the chair, cringing when the hinges squeal.  I hold my breath.  He doesn’t stir.  Step by step, I make it to the crib.  The side is up.  I can’t reach in there.  I look around the semi-lit room and see the stepstool.  I hold him in my arms and with one foot drag it toward his crib.  His eyes flutter open.  My breath hitches.  He closes them.  I place the stool in front of the bed and gingerly climb on it.  The crib is still too high for me.

Each time, before I lower him into the crib, no matter how tired, I lean over and kiss his satiny forehead.  Tonight is no different.  He sighs.  I smile.  I lean over and place him, as carefully as if he was the most fragile loaf of bread, onto the sheets.  I hold my breath and wait.  Sometimes he wakes and sometimes he doesn’t.  He continues sleeping. I exhale and creep out of the room.  I crawl into my bed.  My body begins to drift off as the last thought flutters through my mind.  I wonder if he’ll ever know what I did for him.

Fourteen years later I’m sitting in front of the school, waiting to pick him up from a homecoming dance.  It’s Saturday night.  Request night on the love station.  I’m tapping my finger on the steering wheel.  The music filters off and then I hear it.  “Our last dedication is to Masha from her brother and for everything she did for him.”

I stop tapping.  And breathing.  The intro to the song begins to fill the car.  A moment later the words come across my old radio loud and clear.  I am no longer left to wonder.

The song he chose is Hero.

 

We hoped you enjoyed our stories today. Come back tomorrow for more sweet stories that are sure to make you feel all gooey (in a good way)!

 

 

Happy Valentine’s Week – Day Two

Happy Valentine’s Week from the Waterworld Mermaids!!!

Here in our lovely mermaid lagoon, we are all abuzz with the holiday of love. And because we’re in such a happy mood, we wanted to share some stories and memories from mermaid-pasts. Best of all, we’re celebrating all week long! We hope you enjoy!

Today’s stories are guaranteed to melt your heart. Behind every beautiful flower, sparkly crystal and shining star are the real heroes. Here are some examples….

 

Roses, Tulips, Lilies
Carlene Love Flores

A soldier once sent his wife flowers for Valentine’s Day.  She would never know how he’d pulled it off.  It shouldn’t have been possible.  That big ole desert was far, far away and most days that year, even emails had been scarce.

But sure enough, three bouquets were delivered to her Oklahoma doorstep that morning.  Roses, Tulips, Lilies.

But soldiers do extraordinary things every day.  So when the wife sits and thinks about that Valentines, she doesn’t wonder for too long.  She’s just thankful.

 

Some Flowers Do Last Forever
Kim MacCarron

My husband is not the most romantic man in the world.

But, every once in a while he surprises me.  Mother’s Day of 2005 was just such a day.  By this time, we’d been married for not quite six years, and we had four children.  Romance wasn’t really that high on our list of priorities.   We fell into a daily grind of getting very young children ready for the day and basically stumbling through it until we climbed, exhausted, into bed at night.

On this particular day, my husband arrived home to tell me that he bought me flowers for Mother’s Day.  I casually glanced around him, looking for a dozen long-stemmed red roses.  No such luck.  I grinned and rolled my eyes.  Typical of my husband to not get caught up in another commercial holiday.

After putting the kids to bed that night, we climbed into bed and watched Desperate Housewives together, and after it was over, I went to the bathroom to brush my teeth.  When I came back into the room, I saw a Reed’s Jeweler’s bag sitting on my dresser.

Jewelry trumps flowers any day of the week, as far as I’m concerned.  He was grinning at my surprised expression, and I tried to not tear into the bag.

When I finally looked, I saw not one but four little boxes.  Four!  When I opened the first one, it wasn’t jewelry at all.  It was something far better than that, something I’d been collecting for years.  Swarovski crystals.  This particular one was a pretty pink crystal flower in a vase.  The next box revealed the same one.  The final two were yellow flowers.  Four separate flowers to represent our four children—two girls and two boys.

I blinked hard to not let the tears fall because I really hate to cry in front of him, but, man, it was hard.  He knows how much I love Swarovski crystals.  Oh, and my kids, of course.   That was the best, most thoughtful present he could have given me.

Placing my beautiful crystal flowers on the dresser, I sashayed over to the bed.  I’m not sure how great I looked sashaying when I had a baby seven months before, but I did my best.

About two weeks later, I had to tell him that I needed another flower.

Flowers wilt.  Cards become compost.  But those five Swarovski flowers still sit in my curio cabinet, reminding me of my best Mother’s Day gift of all.  Not my flowers.  My daughter…Shannon.

Shooting Star
Dana Rodgers

Several years ago my husband came home from work to find me on the couch in the fetal position. After a terse reminder that my abdominal pain had been getting increasingly worse over the past two days and me confessing the little incident where I just about collapsed a couple of hours earlier (I was fairly certain a Mac truck had been plowing through my living room and deemed it appropriate to rip out my intestines while passing by). My husband scooped me up and whisked me off to our local Emergency Room, chastising me for not calling him along the way.

Two hours later I was terrified. The plethora of tests revealed that I was pregnant, but it was ectopic. The fallopian tube had ruptured and the reason I was having severe abdominal pain, along with the overwhelming desire to sleep, was because I was hemorrhaging, badly. The doctor said that if I had gone to bed, I wouldn’t have woken up.

My husband held my hand all the way down the hall when they wheeled my gurney to pre-op and said all of the mushy things I needed to hear. It was one of the handfuls of times I have ever seen my 6’6, 230lb Marine get a little misty. (For the record, the other times involved a 14-month separation and the birth of our children–what a guy.) He was there when I woke up, stayed by my side in the hospital, and was there to support me through the emotional aftermath. (And trust me, that wasn’t pretty.)

A few months later, Valentine’s Day rolled around. I was thinking that we’d exchange cards, I might get chocolate, but since we don’t really buy into the commercialized holiday thing it wouldn’t be a big deal. I was Oh-So-Wrong! My husband strolled in that evening, grinning ear to ear, and handed me a letter-sized envelope and flowers. It was a star. My husband had named a freaking STAR after me. I mean how cool is that??? When I asked him why, he said that I was his compass and the light in his life, that I had scared the shit out of him and that he never wanted to be without me. Wow. I mean really, W-O-W!

So why do I write Romance? How could I not when I live with all that hero inspiration every day? I never want to be without him either.

 

We hoped you enjoyed our stories today. Come back tomorrow for more sweet stories that are sure to make you feel all gooey (in a good way)!

 

 

Happy Valentine’s Week – Day One

Happy Valentine’s Week from the Waterworld Mermaids!!!

Here in our lovely mermaid lagoon, we are all abuzz with the holiday of love. And because we’re in such a happy mood, we wanted to share some stories and memories from mermaid-pasts. Best of all, we’re celebrating all week long! We hope you enjoy!

Today’s stories beckon us back to the past. Super romantic gestures, crushes and kisses aren’t solely reserved for adults. Many spectacular things happen throughout our lives. Here are some examples…. Continue reading

Book Review: The Guardian by Sherrilyn Kenyon

I don’t currently own a copy of Sherrilyn Kenyon’s The Guardian.  A book this special must be shared and so I have sent mine to a good friend and by the end of this weekend, I will have gone to buy myself another copy.  While I’m there, I’ll pick up an extra for one random commenter to this review.

The reason?  That’s easy.  Emotion.

Seth and Lydia’s story will evoke it from you, twist your heart and wring you of everything before it’s finished.  Notice I said before it’s finished with you and not the other way around.

Sherrilyn does not waste a second of your time in this book and neither will I trying to simply fill the page.  If you’re a writer, this is a great example of how it’s sometimes necessary to tell a story that’s going to break and then heal your reader’s heart.  Don’t be afraid to go there if you must.  If you’re a reader, hold on tight.  It’s going to be a devastatingly beautiful ride.  Trust me, you’re in good hands.

From Sherrilyn Kenyon’s website:

As a Dream-Hunter, Lydia has been charged with the most sacred and dangerous of missions. She’s to descend into the Nether Realm and find the missing god of dreams before he betrays the secrets that could kill all of them. What she never expects is to be taken prisoner by the Realm’s most vicious guardian.

Seth’s time is running out. If he can’t hand over the key to Olympus and the heart of Zeus, then his own life and soul will be forfeit. No matter the torture, he hasn’t been able to break the god in his custody. But when a rescuer appears, he decides to try a new tactic.

When these two lock wills, one of them must give. But Lydia isn’t just guarding the gates of Olympus, she’s holding back the darkest of powers. If she fails, an ancient evil will roam the earth once more and no one…

I give this one 5 out of 5 mermaid flippers and a GIGANTIC red heart!  If you’d like to be entered into the drawing for a copy of this wonderful book, just say so in the comments section by midnight EST February 10, 2012.

Happy Almost Valentines Day,

Carlene Mermaid ;&

Flat Stanley

I am a proud mama. My daughter has recently graduated to chapter books. With more words than pictures. And more complex story lines. And real chapters! I have to say, this is an exciting milestone in my life, although it’s probably about par-for-the-course in hers.

Like many of you, I am sure, my childhood was dominated by books. My parents used to yell at me to put away my book at the dinner table. I made my way, surely and methodically, through the children’s room at our local library. I looked forward to my airplane rides to Thailand, so I could read for 24 hours straight and no one would tell me to stop.

I’ve always wondered, will my children fall in love with words in quite the same way? Will their imaginations take them to lands no airplane can reach? When they pain of real life becomes too much, will they escape into stories and forget their problems, for just a little while?

I hope so.

A brand-new world is opening up for them, and I get to go along for the ride. Our first foray into chapter books is FLAT STANLEY, by Jeff Brown, which is the story of a boy who is flattened to half an inch thick when an enormous bulletin board falls on him. I’ve learned so much by reading this book out loud.

I’ve learned about world-building. At half an inch thick, Stanley can do loads of cool things other ordinary boys and girls can’t. He can slide underneath doors. He can be lowered into a sidewalk grate to retrieve dropped jewelry. He can even be placed into an envelope and be mailed to distant places, in order to avoid the cost of a plane ticket.

I’ve learned the importance of chapter hooks. Since these books are meant to be read out loud by parents a couple chapters at a time, the story must be interesting enough to hold the child’s attention from day-to-day. (Although not so interesting it has the child refusing bedtime and begging for more!)

I’ve learned that the joy is in the details. One evening, it was late, and I was skipping over a few words to hurry along the story (which I was re-reading for the second time). After Stanley slid into the envelope, I read, there was still room for an egg-salad sandwich and some milk. No, Mommy, my daughter corrected me. It’s a toothbrush container full of milk. Excuse me, I apologized, smiling. My dear daughter had just shown me first-hand that it’s the details that make a story come alive!

I expect I’ll learn many more lessons as I guide my children through the exciting world of chapter books. And I couldn’t be more excited.

What about you? Were you a bookworm as a child? What do you remember most about your favorite childhood books? What have you learned from re-experiencing the wonder of reading?

Going Butt First

When my 1-year-old is having problems falling asleep, he fights it and fights it, but then flops over onto his belly, sticks his butt in the air and falls quickly asleep.  Watching him, I thought maybe I could solve some of my writing problems the same way.  When I tried it at home, I realized I was in danger of getting saddled with a third “oops” child.  At work, I believe they were thinking of resending me to the HR seminar that talked about proper workplace etiquette. So hoping for a less obvious method of getting past a blockade, I figure I’ll ask the lovely Waterworld ladies.

My problem:  when I write my stories, I seem to be writing more motion than emotion.  I gravitate toward describing what the character is doing, rather than what she/he is feeling or experiencing.  I realize there is finesse in being able to entwine both, but I haven’t found it yet.  I do realize my difficulty in getting the reader into my character’s head probably stems from the fact that I would rather flop on my belly and stick my butt in the air on a busy downtown street, than exeprience intense emotions.  I don’t like them.  And I don’t welcome them.  But at the same time, writing is an outlet.  So it becomes a double edged sword.

So how do you lovely ladies do it? (not the butt trick.. my 1-year-old has the market cornered on that one).  What do you do to submerge yourself into the scene, the character.

All thoughts and comments are welcome.  Including ones that kindly request I don’t perform the butt trick  in public.