Category Archives: mermaids

The Slippery Slope of First Manuscript Madness

I could talk about the tons of small projects during childhood and adolescence that I wrote as my first manuscript, but my first novel which I started at age twenty-one was just all kinds of wrong. That should be the title of the book. “All Kinds of Wrong.”

The idea started out sweet and easy. It was supposed to be a cute romance about two people who started out as childhood friends at a vacation lodge and how they fell in love as adults. Picture the setting as Dirty Dancing, minus the dancing.

Then I began to think about all the obstacles, the family members, the friends, hell, even the staff and local residents. My cute vacation romance started the slippery slope into wanting all my secondary characters to have lives, too. I could picture these characters with posters, protesting their one-dimensional lives.

So I took the first step into All Kinds of Wrong, my first spiral into Manuscript Madness. I gave them all extensive backstories and lives outside of the main story. Then I realized that I was paying too much attention to them instead of the main characters. I had to give my hero and heroine more than just a backstory. Enter a shit-ton of flashbacks and flashforwards and information dumping.

And that was in the first chapter. I’m not joking when I say that I had my hero driving up winding mountain roads in the first chapter, just reminiscing and flashing back to how he first met the heroine when she was six and he was twelve. It’s painful to read this first chapter. But, hey. I didn’t leave out my heroine. She got the whole second chapter of raking her bittersweet memories over the coals. I gave her flashbacks equal time.

What started out as a sweet, short romance turned into a crazed mashup of The Thornbirds, War and Peace, and every Judith McNaught book I’d ever read. It was epic. It was 150,000 words of epic.

It was Manuscript Madness.

I had whole paragraphs detailing the walk down to the lake where the hero and heroine would meet for the first time after many years. They both started from different cabins, each taking a break beside different trees while flashing back to the last time they had apparently touched that same bark on those same trees before revealing a momentous memory. Something that had happened that changed them both.

I guess I thought at age twenty-one that a first kiss and (years later) the loss of virginity were momentous occassions and crazy obstacles.

What were the things I learned about that first epic manuscript where I descended into madness and All Kinds of Wrong?

You don’t need to put on the page every single character’s backstory and life. That doesn’t mean that you shouldn’t make them three-dimensional characters. It just means they aren’t the main focus.

Weave in backstory in sneaky ways. Don’t dump information. Not everything is important.

Touching the bark multiple times along the journey might seem bittersweet, but years later it’s cringeworthy. Take my word. First manuscripts are learning opportunities. Even second and third ones. Or, as in my case, the thirteenth.

When I start a new manuscript now, I still have to push my secondary characters out of the way. I don’t care if they sign petitions and organize protests or they try guilting me into writing them into the story more.

I have to tell them: “If you deserve your own story, you’ll get one. Wait your turn.”

That’s my first manuscript story. What things have you learned from your first manuscript attempt? Did you ever descend into madness? Did you ever feel like a manuscript (not just the first) went All Kinds of Wrong?

Please share. I can’t be alone in this. Right?!

www.kimmaccarron.com
Twitter: @KimMacCarron

The Forget Tomorrow Series: ‘Seize Today’ by Pintip Dunn is Available Today!

Wow! This! Pintip Dunn’s latest is here! I am so excited about this book! Readers, you are in for a powerful read. So, put aside that TBR list and start reading Seize Today now!

Seize Today (Forget Tomorrow #3)

by Pintip Dunn

Publication Date:  October 3, 2017

Publisher:  Entangled Teen

Seventeen-year-old Olivia Dresden is a precognitive. Since different versions of people’s futures flicker before her eyes, she doesn’t have to believe in human decency. She can see the way for everyone to be their best self-if only they would make the right decisions. No one is more conflicted than her mother, and Olivia can only watch as Chairwoman Dresden chooses the dark, destructive course every time. Yet Olivia remains fiercely loyal to the woman her mother could be.

But when the chairwoman captures Ryder Russell, the striking and strong-willed boy from the rebel Underground, Olivia sees a vision of her own imminent death…at Ryder’s hand. Despite her bleak fate, she rescues Ryder and flees with him, drawing her mother’s fury and sparking a romance as doomed as Olivia herself. As the full extent of Chairwoman Dresden’s gruesome plan is revealed, Olivia must find the courage to live in the present-and stop her mother before she destroys the world.

Purchase Links:

Amazon | Amazon.com.au | Amazon.co.uk | Amazon.ca | B&N | iBooks | Kobo | Entangled

OTHER BOOKS IN THE SERIES

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

AUTHOR INFO:

Pintip Dunn is a New York Times bestselling author of YA fiction. She graduated from Harvard University, magna cum laude, with an A.B. in English Literature and Language. She received her J.D. at Yale Law School, where she was an editor of the YALE LAW JOURNAL. Pintip’s debut novel, FORGET TOMORROW, won the RWA RITA® for Best First Book. In addition, it is a finalist for the Grand Prix de l’Imaginaire, the Japanese Sakura Medal, and the MASL Truman Award. THE DARKEST LIE was nominated for a Romantic Times Reviewers’ Choice Award. Her other books include REMEMBER YESTERDAY, the novella BEFORE TOMORROW, and GIRL ON THE VERGE. She lives with her husband and children in Maryland. You can learn more about Pintip and her books at www.pintipdunn.com

Website | Twitter | Facebook | Goodreads

First Manuscript or excerpts from BtVS fanfics? Decisions, Decisions…

The banner for my fanfiction website…

I can barely remember the first story I ever wrote. I do, but you know, that 4th grade West Side Story/Charlie’s Angels crossover, well, let’s just say, a big NO to that memory (although, the singing parts were cool:)… but then I looked up one of my fanfiction stories, a BtVS/Angel crossover called, Destiny and Dust.

So, instead of writing about that first manuscript, I thought I’d share excerpts from some of my old fanfics.

The most beautiful thing we can experience is the mysterious. Albert Einstein (1879-1955)

“That’s really cute.” Buffy Summers’ gaze followed the pointing finger of the tall young woman to the handbag on Buffy’s arm. “I swear to god, it’s really, really cute. It looks fantastic, and you’ve simply got to own it.”

“Okay, Lillie, okay,” said Buffy, ready to scream. It was just a handbag. A purse. A thing to put things in. It wouldn’t change her life. She would still be Buffy. Okay, Buffy with a really great purse. She preened in front of the mirror for a moment before her bad moodiness inched its way back to the surface. She hadn’t forgotten why she was out shopping in the first place. It had been Willow’s idea – not Buffy’s.

“Go with Lillie,” Willow had said. “It’s April, and it’s Paris. Get out of the apartment, and get some fresh air. You’ll feel better,” Willow had promised. Reluctantly, Buffy had agreed. So she wasn’t exactly thrilled when she learned this oh-so-great idea didn’t apply to Willow – who had stayed home.

Buffy had to admit that Lillie could be fun. It was just that, well, a shopping spree wasn’t what Buffy had in mind. Lately, her typical day began with several hours of sulking, interrupted by fifteen-minute blocks of self-loathing, followed by a brief burst of mandatory tears. She knew she was being a little too tough on herself, okay, maybe more than a little. It had been two years, after all, since Sunnydale.

I wrote more than 500,000 words of fanfiction when I was an avid BtVS/Angel writer. And this story reminded me just how much I loved “evil” Willow. I also liked adding “original characters”.

Here’s the opening of one of my early BtVS stories that were very popular, although, it made some folks angry. It starts as a celebration of Spike/Buffy love but ends tragically. I was probably angry this day:

when 

“When did you fall in love with me?”

“I told you.”

“Tell me again.”

“I had a dream. I woke up. I was in love.”

“Oh, Spike—”

“That’s the truth.”

“You didn’t love me a little before the dream?”

“Maybe a smidgen—”

“When did this minuscule love begin?” She asked, giving him her version of his smirk as he leaned back against the headboard of the bed and closed his eyes. “Wasn’t it odd when all of a sudden, just like that, you stopped hating me and fell in—?”

“Never hated you, pet,” he interrupted.

“Okay—you just tried to kill me a hundred or so times because—”

“Sworn enemies don’t hate.”

She rolled her eyes, and turning toward him, propped herself up on her elbows and stared into his face. Then she frowned. “So our epic battles were the high jinks of a mutual admiration society?”

“Something like that.”

“Yeah, something like that.” She smacked her lips. “Come on, Spike. When did you fall in love with me?”

“You tell me first.” His fingers touched her forehead, brushing a few strands of hair aside.

“Maybe it hasn’t happened yet?” She took his hand from its resting place on top of his stomach and pulled it to her mouth, her tongue and lips dropping kisses into his palm.

Now, I wonder what else I can share, let me see…this one was called:

Like Mice in a Cornfield

It was the nightmare Spike could never stop having. He was stranded in a shiny bright world with blazing suns. It was so hot he had to wipe the sweat from his skin in layers. Lying on his back, naked in the grass, he watched a flock of bluebirds soar across the sky.

But then another wave of heat tore through the valley and he rolled onto his side, covering his eyes with his hands. He needed to shield them from the sun.

After a while, he sat up and saw a row of trees on the edge of the horizon. Tall and leafy, they stretched across the landscape as far as the hills. And there were hills rising against the sky like crystal green castles bathed in sunlight.

Spike struggled to his knees and took a deep breath.

The air smelled like water, fresh, clear and sparkling. A river was nearby—and something more.

Buffy. She was standing on a precipice looking down on the water, her body, like the hills, stunning in sunlight and shadow.

Spike rose to his feet. She was only a short distance away. He could reach her if he tried.

But how was all of this bloody possible?

In this time, there was no clean water and nothing grew. Birds were extinct and the sun hadn’t shone in seventy years. And he couldn’t lay in the sun. He was a vampire.

Then he was running, trying to reach her. But when he stood at the edge of the precipice, his skin suddenly was cold and wet, and the sun had disappeared.

Spike shivered so hard he couldn’t move.

But then he understood.

It wasn’t Buffy. It couldn’t be her. Was never her. Because. Like the rest of the world, she no longer existed.

Okay, I had fun sharing…hope you enjoyed reading. If you’d like to read anymore, remark in the comments and I’ll include the links! Happy Thursday!

Brand New Release for Harlequin Author Kerri Carpenter!

Psst… it’s me, Carlene Mermaid. Sorry for the whispering, but word on the waterway is that there is a mysterious person purporting to be the Bayside Blogger while at the same time purporting to not be the Bayside Blogger. (Scratches head) and they are lurking in the lagoon, trying to stir up trouble. I don’t know if he/she is the real deal, but I’m not about to let this sneakster steal the spotlight from our fishy sister on her big day.

Today will be a glittery, sparkly day of book releasing celebration if it’s the last thing I do! Join me in this effort, fishy friends! All right, so I’ve just had a swim around and our waters once again seem peaceful. Let’s sit down and tune in to the Bayside author herself, Miss Mermaid Kerri Carpenter, as she gives you the exclusive and ever-so-dazzling scoop on her brand new Harlequin release (and some tips on disguises that perhaps our mysterious person of interest should have followed):

Thank you for answering all my tough questions, Mermaid Kerri! You are MY hero. Maybe when our mysterious blogger’s book comes out later this year, you and said blogger can visit the lagoon together, out in the open. Until then, I know I am so excited to get my hands on and read the next installment of the Saved by the Blog series, Bidding on the Bachelor which is out RIGHT NOW! Click HERE for more info on Kerri’s books.

So readers, with dress up season just around the corner, are costumes a yay or a nay for you? One lucky commenter will be randomly drawn and will win a free copy of Bidding on the Bachelor. Good luck!

A Bit More About the New Release…

Another roll of the dice
Big news, fair readers! Bayside High’s favorite It Girl is back. Would you have bet Carissa Blackwell would ever return? Ten years ago, she crushed Jasper Dumont’s heart under her Jimmy Choos and left town for a bigger, better life. Her return raises one question: What is she running from (or is it to) now?
Perhaps Jasper knows? One look at Carissa and he fell in the bay! (Rich, single and devastatingly handsome, Jasper’s our catch of the day.) That icy plunge should have brought him to his senses, yet “Casper” has been spotted together all over town. Does this mean Bayside’s legendary couple may reunite? The stakes are high, but the Bayside Blogger’s money is riding on love!

Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iTunes / Kobo / Harlequin Page
Look for books 1 and 3 in the Saved by the Blog Series:
Falling for the Right Brother, Available now
Bayside’s Most Unexpected Bride, December 2017/January 2018

Brenda Drake’s New Release: Thunderstruck!

Thunderstruck
Brenda Drake
Published by: Entangled Crave
Publication date: September 11th 2017
Genres: Mystery, Mythology, Romance

Stevie Moon is famous…at least to the subscribers on her comic review vlog. At school, she’s as plain as the gray painted walls in the cafeteria. So when Blake, the hot new guy at school, shows an interest in her, she knows trouble when she sees it. Been there. And never doing it again.

As the son of the god Thor, Blake Foster’s been given an important mission—to recover the Norse god Heimdall’s sacred and powerful horn before someone uses it to herald in the destruction of the entire universe. But while Blake is great in a fight, the battlefield that is a high school’s social scene is another matter.

Blake knows his only choice is to team up with the adorable Stevie, but she’s not willing to give him even the time of day. He’ll need to woo the girl and find the horn if he hopes to win this war. Who better to tackle Stevie’s defenses than the demi-god of thunder?

“Every page brims with captivating Norse mythology and deliciously creative worldbuilding.” Pintip Dunn, New York Times bestselling author.

Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / Kobo

EXCERPT:

After disposing of the troll, Blake rushed to May’s house and showered. His thoughts kept going to Stevie. After hearing what Jörd said to him, he wanted to see her. The pull to go to her was too strong. He had no choice but to give in to it.

He climbed the tree outside Stevie’s room and sat on the branch. A blue light blinked on and off inside the room. He lightly tapped on the window. Muffled voices from within the room hummed against the glassed pane.

The curtain pushed aside. Amira was close to Stevie’s back when the curtain slid to the side. Stevie said something to Amira that Blake couldn’t hear through the thick glass. Amira turned away and dropped onto the bed. Stevie flipped the locks and opened the window.

“You scared the shit out of us,” Stevie snapped.

Amira crossed her arms. “Yeah, we’re watching scary movies here.”

Blake tried not to laugh, but he couldn’t hold it in. “My apologies. Can I have a moment alone with you, Stevie?”

“With me?” She glanced back.

“No.” Amira heaved a sigh. “With the other Stevie in the room.”

“Where do you want to go?”

He reached his hand out to her. “Out here is fine.”

She narrowed her gaze on him. “I don’t think so.”

“Come on,” he said. “It’s perfectly safe. This branch is thick. Trust me.”

“Stop being a chicken and go already. I have to pee.” Amira shuffled off.

Stevie hesitated before grabbing his hand and letting him guide her out the window and onto the branch. “This is crazy, you know that?”

“If you never throw caution to the wind, you’ll never be rewarded.” He sat on the branch and held her hand as she came down beside him. Her hand was warm and soft in his, and he wanted to hold it forever.

The loose pajama bottoms she wore had cats on them. Her pink tank top rode up a little and exposed a bit of her midriff. Her light-brown hair, the color of the acorns he’d gathered with his grandmother when he was a boy, rose in the wind behind her. Wide, dark eyes met his, her full lips parted in a smile.

“What did you want?” She glanced at the ground. “Wow, this is pretty high.”

“Don’t worry. I won’t let you fall.” He slid his hand across her lower back and held her waist. She shivered. “Are you cold?”

“A little,” she said.

“Hold on.” He let her go, shrugged off his hoodie, and draped it around her shoulders.

“Thank you.”

She held it closed at the zipper. He returned his arm around her, grasping her waist. She shuddered, and he smiled at her response to his touch.

“You didn’t answer me,” she said. “What did you want to talk to me about?”

“Actually, I’m not here to talk,” he said. “Have you ever had an urge to do something, and once it’s in your head, you can’t sleep or think until you do the thing?”

“I guess.” When she looked over at him, they locked eyes and an intensity passed between them like the energy he felt in the handle of his hammer after catching lightning with it. He noticed a faint scar just above her cupid’s bow.

“How did you get the scar?” he asked.

“Scar?” She glanced down at her chest.

“Not there,” he whispered, lifting her chin to look into her eyes. “On your lip.”

She touched it. “Oh this? It’s an embarrassing story. Let’s just say, I learned to watch where I’m walking, especially when poles are around.”

He chuckled. “I can imagine what happened.”

She lowered her head again, her feet kicking back and forth.

He decided to take his chance and cupped her face in his hands, bringing her face to his and kissing her. It was a gentle, wanting kiss. Her lips were soft and warm against his. She tasted like May’s brownies. When Stevie hadn’t responded to his kiss, he was about to release her, but then her lips began moving with his. He cradled her in his arms and they balanced together on the branch.

 

Author Bio:

Brenda Drake is a New York Times bestselling author of young adult fiction. She grew up the youngest of three children, an Air Force brat, and the continual new kid at school. Her fondest memories growing up is of her eccentric, Irish grandmother’s animated tales, which gave her a strong love for storytelling. So it was only fitting that she would choose to write stories with a bend toward the fantastical. When she’s not writing or hanging out with her family, she haunts libraries, bookstores, and coffee shops, or reads someplace quiet and not at all exotic (much to her disappointment).

Website / Goodreads / Facebook / Twitter

 

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My First Story: Dana Rodgers

hand-writing-pen-butterfly-animated-gif

Let’s start by saying that every published author I know has a stack of rejection letters stuffed in a drawer or boxed up and safely tucked into a dark closet along with their insecurities. Those same writers also have a stack of incomplete manuscripts tucked away somewhere. Those starts and stops, poorly developed stories and half written best-sellers are an evolution as a writer develops their craft and comes out the other side as a multi-published butterfly.

girl-writing-fourth-gradeBut just like everything else in life, you can’t begin your evolution into that multi-published butterfly unless you pick up that pen and get started. My own humble beginning started in the third grade with a writing prompt about two brothers swimming in a lake. My story began with the brothers splashing each other and then it morphed into a race of who could swim across the lake faster. Hopefully it was a narrow lake because it never occurred to my eight year old self how large a lake really is.

As the brothers swam across the lake, one pulling ahead and then the other, something happened. My inside voice screamed, “What are you doing? This is lame and it is SO boring!” Something else needs to happen to make this story interesting.” For me that was the moment, that one moment, when my creative side broke through the mundane and my passion for writing was born.

Oh, I guess you’re probably wondering what happened to the brothers about now?

foaxhinhAs they raced across the lake one of them got pulled under by a lake monster. The other brother was able to pull him back to the surface but the water broiled with bubbles and angry green tentacles were waving in the air around them. The brothers dodged left and then right, they dove and surfaced dodging tentacles and certain death. The brothers raced for their lives across the water, utterly exhausted as they neared the shore. One brother had just reached the shore when he looked back and saw his little brother sucked under again so he grabbed a sharp rock and waded back into the lake stabbing and slashing at the monster screaming, “Die! Die! Die!” After the big brother had killed the lake monster he drug his little brother back to shore, and knew he’d get to stay up late and get extra ice cream for saving him.

Hey, don’t judge. I was eight. But I still feel that brilliant masterpiece deserved way more than the “C” that my third grade teacher graced it with. It had action, adventure, monsters, drama and even had a happy ending.

I’m so glad you stopped by the Mermaid Lagoon. I would love to hear about what inspired your writing and any masterpieces hiding in your closet. 

My first book: Carlene Love

first things first

Hi.

How are you doing today? Whatcha reading? Are you liking it? I would love to know so please share in the comments section.

I’m currently reading a few interesting books. Ever heard of “Mating in Captivity” by Esther Perel? A good friend who attempts miracles on my hair and is also one of the most dynamic people I know, suggested that one and I have to say, it’s worth a look. I downloaded the Kindle version (after first reading the free sample, which held its own and had me hooked).

So this is slightly random, but I’m curious to know if any of you out there read things solely because some intriguing person has read it? I find myself doing this quite often. Stalking the favorite reads of people you hope to learn more about. Confession time. “The Ballad of the Sad Café” was a wonderful read which I am happy to have discovered  after obsessing over Robert Pattinson between 2007 and 2014. He may have mentioned reading it in interviews I may have scourged the internet for.

Robert Pattinson Gives Oprah His Favorite Book from Pattinson Online Network on Vimeo.

It doesn’t end there. I’m guilty of doing this with friends and family too, as evidenced by the stack of wizardly books in my “to read” collection. I’ve even got a Jude Deveraux title because I know she’s a fave of our own Mermaid Princess Alethea.

Oh, and then there’s one I’m truly loving called “Under Her Skin” by Adriana Anders. This one had me from the first page and I owe close friend and fellow author, Lynne Silver, a huge thank you for the quirky recommendation. The lead character is Uma and the hilarious opening lines are:

“Old hag in need of live-in helper to abuse. Nothing kinky.” Uma read the ad again.

I absolutely love those lines. What do you think? Catchy? They had me from the start. I could go on and on about Uma and her adventures in want ads but….

……. hemming

………….hawing

………………..tapping toes

Alright, I confess. I’ve been stalling over talking about what I’m really supposed to be talking about which is … the first book I ever wrote. It’s just that it was 1984. Las Vegas, Nevada. I was ten. It was a choose-your-own-adventure style story about a veterinarian whose boat becomes stranded in a dangerous jungle. I’m sure I had great intentions, but reading back through all seven pages of it, I see where I quite literally may have missed the boat on my first literary endeavor. Even still, I am very proud of the little guy. It has a beautiful blue hard cover with a gorgeous orange lion on the front. I made it by hand in my fourth grade English class and it currently resides with my mom for safe keeping.

Jungle Book

 

CarleneThank you for letting me share this blast from the past. And I meant it up above when I said I’d like to hear about your current reads. Oooo, or if you too have a special little literary gem lurking in your past.

Be well, all.

Carlene Mermaid

 

 

 

My Favorite Writing Spot: Carlene Love

Carlene Love's Favorite Writing Spot

Citrus Skies and the Wild Trees

Ancient Tides for my dusty feet

To think I did not want to meet

A girl now begs, write your name on me.

~Carlene Love

 

Buon giorno, readers. Thank you for being here today and for having stopped by the past several weeks to read our posts about our favorite writing places. While my mermaid sisters were blogging on this topic, I was in Italy with my family and so I asked that I be scheduled last to allow for time to return to the States and in turn, to my laptop. Yes, I went to Italy for two weeks and didn’t bring so much as a note pad. I guess I just needed to be away and on this great escape more than I needed to write about it.

Took this of the magical, mystical seaside town: Manarola.

Took this of the magical, mystical seaside town: Manarola.

One thing I love about being part of the Mermaids is that we are all organically at different places in our lives in general, and also, in our writing lives, yet we come together, just like family. Continue reading

Writing Nowhere

Where do I write?  These days, nowhere.  Not in my head, not on my keyboard, not in a creative nook, not in a fancy writing office with a cantankerous cat.

Nowhere.

Life has gotten in the way.  Not an excuse for some, but it is for me.  And I’m okay with it.  This is the first time I’ve touched the keyboard in months.  How many, I don’t know.  Lost count, to be exact.  And so that’s where I am.

Nowhere.

Not developing new story ideas.  Not creating new characters.  Not writing fast drafts.

Nowhere.

Except is that really where I am?

I stop by my parents’ house.  My gaze falls on a poem I wrote to them, years ago.


We still remember where we came from
The withered birches standing tall
The dachas with their secret gardens
That rolled from summer into fall.

As children we knew very little
Of all the hardships they endured
They did not want us bearing witness
To those same struggles, as we matured.

Around the many kitchen tables
They pondered when they would live free
And during many whispered evenings
They plotted, how and when they’d flee.

While soundly we slept like children
They chose whether to leave their lives
Because they knew that staying in Russia
Would only lead us to demise.

They quickly packed up our belongings
Then took us far away from home
So that we’d never know the struggles
They had had sadly always known.

It was not Fate that gave us choices
Nor was it Her that gave us life
It was our family’s act of courage
That gave us freedom without strife.

So where am I?

Living in freedom to write about being nowhere.  That’s not nowhere.  That’s somewhere special.

Where Do I NOT Write? That is the Question

I would love to say that I have an amazing office with built-in mahogany shelves to showcase my thousands of favorite books and an antique desk that once belonged to a famous author. I’d love to say I have an ergonomic chair that helps my posture and my walls are decorated with inspirational posters about writing.

But, yeah, that’s not what I have.

Instead, I write wherever I can. I start off in a chair in my living room while I have my morning coffee, celebrating the amazing words I’d crafted the day before. When my back starts to cramp in that chair, I head to the kitchen table. This is provided I can find a clear spot. During the school year, I usually have to shove projects and books to the side to make way for the laptop. With five kids, that can be a lot of shoving. I need to sponge off sticky residue from either glue or jelly. Or both. And I certainly never swear while I’m cleaning my writing area. Never.

Once I get comfortable in the wooden kitchen chair, I sometimes—almost never because I’m a writer and writers write—I might check social media very, very quickly. It rarely takes any time out of my day. I might pop on Hangouts just to see what some of my writing groups are up to. I certainly never get sidetracked by things that are not writing-related. I would never discuss inappropriate couches or clown erotica or mating rituals of insects. And if a swarm of Dragonflies (Golden Heart finalists from 2015) jumps on here to dispute that, well, they’re just flat-out fibbing. I never look at the time on my phone and realize that two hours have gone by without writing a word. That never happens. Never.

But if it did, I would want a new location to jumpstart those creative juices. That’s when I usually head up to my bed. I stack the pillows behind me to get comfy, then I hunker down and write ALL THE WORDS. I power through, not tempted by the television. Not tempted to throw things in my Amazon Prime cart. Not tempted to research anything that could take me down the rabbit hole. That never happens. Never.

Later in the afternoon my kids start yelling up the stairs that I need to be ready to take them to soccer. That’s when I slip my laptop into my Vera Bradley bag and schlep it out to my minivan. I usually brainstorm my next chapter all the way to my destination, and then as soon as I park, I whip out my laptop and don’t waste even a minute of my writing time. Usually the words are flowing and I’m way in the zone when my kids head back to the van after practice. I never leave my laptop in that cute little Vera Bradley bag while I talk to other soccer moms or text my writing friends. That never happens. Never.

I’ve written pretty much everywhere. I’ve written in bleachers. I’ve written on a large quartz rock at a park. I’ve written in restaurants and coffee houses. I’ve written on my upraised knee, standing in line at the DMV. This I did recently on my birthday since I may or may not have forgotten that my driver’s license expired on the day I turned…well, on the day I turned 33. Again.

For the most part, it’s not really important WHERE you write. It’s only important that you WRITE.

Where’s the craziest place you’ve ever written? And do you have a special place that makes those words flow? If so, share.

www.kimmaccarron.com Twitter: @KimMacCarron

www.kimmaccarron.com
Twitter: @KimMacCarron