Tag Archive for: the writing life

Chaos by Lynn Chandler Willis

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I have a confession to make. Oh, by the way––I’m Lynn, and I’m one of the new kids on the block. I too am an author. Let’s get that little fact out of the way so you’ll fully grasp the weight of my confession. Here goes…are you sitting down? You might want to sit down for this. 

I can’t write when my world is calm. I need chaos. I crave chaos.  

Not like I crave Dove milk chocolate but that’s an issue for another day. I only crave chaos when I’m trying to write so it’s not like I’m an adrenaline junkie or some weirdo. We all have our little quirks. Victor Hugo used to write naked. Hemingway wrote standing up. Lynn Chandler Willis writes while stirring the SpaghettiOs or changing a diaper or overseeing snack time. 

I discovered this about my self at, of all places, a writer’s retreat. I had just come off a 5-year stint of babysitting eight of my nine grandkids and could not wait to spend a week with other authors. All the learning and sharing and brainstorming––all taking place in a magnificent, ocean-front house with 46 bedrooms. Okay, it may have only been 16 bedrooms but I’ve never been in a house that big.

The first morning there, I take my cup of coffee to one of the dining tables that could seat a football team and open up the laptop to get started. Here goes…I’m going to write. Okay, maybe it was just a false start. I wasn’t fond of that word so I deleted it and started over. Again. And again. And…again.  

I look around the room at the other authors and everyone is engrossed in their work. Fingers are flying across keyboards, red pens are scribbling on paper, and not one single person is talking. Some are wearing headphones, perhaps listening to a playlist of their favorite music. Or maybe they’re wearing them to drown out the…silence?

I spent an obscene amount of time those first few days scrolling Facebook or reading and answering emails. I even read, and replied to, the spam. I don’t remember which day it was that the magic finally happened. Armed with the laptop and coffee, I sat at a covered bar on the second-floor balcony, overlooking the ocean. The sound of the waves crashing and the constant chatter from the seagulls was just the beginning. The house next door was massive, like ours. I have no idea if the people who were staying there were family or friends, but there was at least twenty of them. Not including the kids. 

When those kids ran outside and jumped in the pool, my heart fluttered. It wasn’t long before they were splashing and yelling and laughing so loud the neighbors could hear them. And the words came. I wrote a paragraph, and then another one, and another. 

Don’t get me wrong––I’d go on another writer’s retreat in a heartbeat. Now that I know my style and what I need to get the words down,  I can embrace it. I hug it, and squeeze it, and love it like the cherished quirk it is. I crave it.

The other night while working on the first book in a new series (coming Fall 2022, yeah!), I was struggling with a scene. It just would not come. But a text from my ten-year-old grandson did come. He asked if he could come down and watch his “show.”  Poor guy has a twin sister and another sister 11 months older and they don’t like The Flash so he comes down to my house where he rules the roost. 

He came down and curled up beside me on the couch where I was struggling with the right words. He turned on the tv, turned the volume up, and settled in. Every once in a while, he’d pause it and say, “Grandma watch this,” and I would. I’d look up from the laptop to watch some goofy scene that appealed to ten-year-old boys and I’d laugh with him, or I’d offer a wow! and then go back to writing, the word count climbing. Once again, I embraced the chaos.   

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Focus on the Good Stuff

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What can you say about a year that’s a Rooster in the
Chinese calendar? Whose Pantone color of the year kinda looked like slime?

Thank goodness it’s over?



The year was the pits in too many ways, with too many people
focused on the things that divide us rather than looking for common goals,
values or ideas. 

So today, I want to focus on the good stuff.

2017 held wonderful times for my family – a wedding, a new
baby, and I chose to retire early from a career I’ve enjoyed for years. All of
these are thresholds to new adventures, new stages of life.

I can’t wait to see what 2018 holds – even if it’s the Year
of the Dog and the color is purple.

What about you? What was the best thing that happened during
2017?



To celebrate all the good stuff, So About the Money will be on sale next week. Book one in the Holly Price series, the story romps through eastern Washington with its rivers, wineries, Native
American casinos, and assorted farm animals. Add in some wicked fun chemistry
between the CPA amateur sleuth and a local detective and Holly better solve
the case before the next dead body found beside the river is hers. 


       Amazon       Nook        Kobo        iBooks      




An award-winning author of financial mysteries, Cathy Perkins writes twisting dark suspense and light amateur sleuth stories.  When not writing, she battles with the beavers over the pond height or heads out on another travel adventure. She lives in Washington with her husband, children, several dogs and the resident deer herd. 
She’s hard at work on the next book in the Holly Price series, which might be Still About the Money. 


Actions Speak Much, Much Louder Than Words

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I picked up a new craft book (aren’t all
authors addicted to improving their craft?) that has me excited about writing
again. Part of my funk over the winter had been that writing seemed yet another
job – with a long list of Must Do tasks – and like most of you, I had too many
balls in the air already.
I wanted to buckle down and just write the damn
book. I actually had people contact me and ask when the next in the Holly
Price/ So About series would release—which should make me feel happy rather
than pressured. Right?
Anyway, I stumbled over two books titled The
90-Day Novel. 
Okay then! 90-days! Score! (Is this where
I admit it takes me a year to write a novel?)
The first craft book was a disappointment. It
contained a very summarized rehash of things we’ve all heard a million times.
Set your turning points, make the index cards, park your butt and go.
Yawn. 
The other one, by Alan Watt, hit the note I
needed to hear. Step back and consider the possibilities, he recommended. What if…? 

What are you afraid of? Your heroine probably has the same fears. Can you work
with that? Lots (and lots) of 5 minute writing drills occurred during the first
week, but none of it needed to appear directly in the book. I was encouraged to
scribble images, scenes, scene-lets, ideas, whatever. No pressure, because
nobody was going to read or critique it. It was playing with words, which I
hadn’t done in ages. It was diving into what I was passionate about—and how
that drives my story. 
And through the process, the dilemma, which is
the root perception cause of the
problem (which is what your protag thinks
she’s trying to solve) evolves. I realized “trust” is the emotion I needed to
tap into and now, everything else is falling into place. The conflicts between
all my characters really come down to that one, very basic emotion. Trust is
crucial for a relationship. All relationships. Relationships between friends,
family, lovers.
Trust is what happens when actions speak much,
much louder than words. You can’t make
someone trust you. From Holly’s perspective, when others’ actions are
undermining her trust in them, going with what she believes is the right thing to
do will show others she’s trustworthy—and hopefully won’t get her killed. 
I started this craft book adventure in
connection with my own 100×100 challenge (a friend who’s 300 days in inspired
me). The 100×100 challenge is to write at least 100 words every day for 100
days. Three weeks into in, I’ve filled half a spiral notebook. And the scenes,
plot, and subplots are coming into focus. 
How’s
your writing going this summer?

Cathy
Perkins is currently working on Book Two in the Holly Price/So About series. So
About the Money was blessed by readers and booksellers with the Award of
Excellence – Best Novel with Strong Romantic Elements. 

A spin-off in that
series, Malbec Mayhem features one of the secondary characters and is available
now.

Maybe It’s Normal, but I Don’t Have to Like It

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By Kay Kendall

This month I’m putting
final touches on my second mystery, rushing to meet a self-imposed deadline and
trying to make up for time lost with my spouse’s recent illness. The waiting
period before my editor’s comments arrived was agonizing. That was when I drummed my fingers on the table instead
of pounding keys on my PC.

What will my editor say?
Is my second book junk compared to my first one? Is it a hopeless mess? Have I
lost my touch—that is, any talent that I had to begin with? The days passed. The clock
ticked. I chewed my cuticles. I waited. 


All authors who address
the agonies of the writing and publishing process

mention that there are always
down periods when they doubt themselves. Even those who routinely issue
bestselling novels confess to having these feelings.


Okay, so misery loves
company. I admit that their angst makes mine lighter by seeming normal. Usually
that kind of reasoning works for me.

However! This week while
I waited for my editor’s next round of revisions, I decided this was no fun at
all. I didn’t care if it was normal. I didn’t care if others felt the same way.
I didn’t feel good about anything, and my nerves were shredded.

Yesterday when the long-awaited
documents hit my inbox, I opened them immediately, read through the general
comments, and scanned the three-hundred-page manuscript that will become RAINY
DAY WOMEN, the further exploits of my intrepid amateur sleuth Austin Starr.

After thirty minutes of
reading, I realized I had slid into a comfortable groove. I’d been here before
with mystery number one, DESOLATION ROW. I recalled enjoying this part of the
process—the to and fro with my editor. She’s a good fit with me. We happily spend time choosing the right synonym or arguing about the proper way to spell
whiskey. Or whisky, depending what country it comes from. Yes, I had worked through this once with the first book. You bet I could do it again. 

Since I have persevered,
not given up, not thrown in the towel, I have moved on to this delicious stage
of preparing my manuscript for publication. If it weren’t for the too-tight
deadline, I would be having a blast. I cannot burn the midnight oil as I once
did—never mind at 30. How about back when I could really tear up the track—when
I was 50? <Note to Editor Beth: Yes, I’ve indulged my flaw–a fondness for cliches–but I usually mean them tongue-in-cheek. I’ll enjoy them here all the better to rip them from the ms.>

And so it goes, as my
manuscript, my editor, my publisher Stairway Press, and I tramp ever onward to that hallowed
publication date. Please mark your calendars, my friends. RAINY  DAY WOMEN sees the light of day—despite its
title—on Tuesday, July 7.
                                                        *******

Kay Kendall set her
debut novel, DESOLATION ROW–AN AUSTIN STARR MYSTERY in 1968. The sequel RAINY
DAY WOMEN shows her amateur sleuth Austin Starr
proving her best friend didn’t murder women’s
liberation activists in Seattle and Vancouver. A fan of historical
mysteries, Kay does for the 1960s what novelist Jacqueline Winspear
accomplishes for England in the 1930s–present atmospheric mysteries that
capture the spirit of the age. She is also an award-winning international PR
executive who lives in Texas with her husband, three house rabbits, and spaniel
Wills. Terribly allergic to the bunnies, she loves them anyway! Her book titles
show she’s a Bob Dylan buff too. 



Pajama Day

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by: Joelle Charbonneau

My son loves preschool and for good reason.  He gets to hang around with people his size, play games, do arts and crafts, sing songs, read books and get snacks all during a 2 ½ hour period.  It makes me want to go to preschool.  Molding Playdough sounds soothing.
Occasionally, the preschool has a special dress up day.  Last semester it was, of course, Halloween.  This semester they will celebrate pajama day.  This Thursday, all the tots have been asked to come to school in their PJs.  They are even invited to bring their favorite stuffed animal friend.  Yes, I am totally jealous.
I mean, as writers we get kidded a lot about not having to get out of our pajamas.  We can get up and walk over to our job without ever having to brush our teeth or get out of our footie pajamas.  How cool is that, right?  (Well, aside from the not brushing our teeth part.  I mean, who really wants to go around all day with morning breath?  That’s just icky.)  I am almost embarrassed to admit that in my adult writing life I have never spent the day in my pajamas.  (Yes, I am hanging my head in shame.)  Every day I get dressed in my typical uniform of jeans and a sweatshirt (because it is winter folks and I am COLD), march the tot downstairs and go about the business of my mommy and writing life. 
Why?  Do I have an aversion to pajamas?  Do I think I’m too good for them?
Ha!  No way.  I love the comfort of my PJs.  But that’s the problem.  They’re comfortable.  Not to say my jeans and sweatshirts aren’t, but they’re “getting stuff done” clothes not “preparing to be unconscious” ones.  The minute I put my PJs on my brain loses focus.  I start thinking about what I should read before turning the lights out and what things I need to get done the next day.  Chapter hooks and character development goes right out the window.
Which makes me wonder if I’m the only one that has this problem.  I mean, do you lose all ability to “work” when you put your pajamas on?  And if I’m not the only one, I have to admit I’m a bit concerned for the preschool teachers this week.  I’ll have to let you know how pajama day turns out! 

The Fine Art of Juggling Time

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by Susan McBride

Although I consider myself pretty adept at a lot of different things, balancing my time wisely is not one of them.  No matter how old I get–and how much wiser in other departments–I don’t seem to have completely grasped the concept that you cannot agree to do 200 things in a finite amount of time and get all of them done. 
I always think I can do it.  Take this year, for example.  I told myself, sure, I can do revisions on Little Black Dress in the first few months, go through the copy edit, check the page proofs, and all else that the production schedule demands of me, PLUS write the first draft of Dead Address, the young adult mystery for Random House AND promote Little Black Dress upon release in late August THEN pen my next women’s fiction book, Little White Lies, all by December 1.  Oh, yeah, and that’s not counting all the real-life hoo-ha that comes in between (take my lovely encounter with skin cancer and Moh’s surgery in May, for instance). 

Piece of cake, yes?

Well, I imagined it would be.  I mean, I kept reminding myself I’d written two books for my two different publishers while going through my boobal crisis nearly five years ago.  I know I’m not Superwoman (at least, not one who doesn’t constantly trip on her cape), but I seem to want to play one on TV.  Or at least in my writing life. 

I used to always meet deadlines.  Heck, I’d turn things in early.  I was such an overachiever that at the first lunch I ever had with my agent and then-mystery editor half a dozen years ago, they remarked on how efficient I was.  “Like a robot,” one of them actually said (though I can’t recall which). 
But back then, I was single.  I had myself, two cats, and a condo to worry about.  It was like living on another planet.  Once I’d met Ed, bought a house with him, dealt with a health crisis, got married, and took on even more responsibilities, I told myself, “You aren’t a robot.  You’re human.  You can only do what you can do.”  That’s a mantra I repeat often, so I’m not sure why it hasn’t completely sunk in. 

I still want to say, “yes, I can do that!”  Even if I worry that it’s adding yet another ball to the ones I’m juggling.  “No problem!” I chirp when asked to do things spur of the moment when I realize I should be focusing on writing books and not scattering my energy and time all over the place.

In some ways, I have gotten better about time. I don’t travel nearly as much as I used to.  I do say “no” when an event isn’t doable.  I don’t do Twitter (and never intend to), I’m not LinkedIn or GooglePlussed or anything besides Facebooked.  I’m on two group blogs with other incredible women authors who are busy balancing their real lives and writing lives, too.

And, still, I find myself in binds over and over, where I know at least one thing won’t get done on time.  Where I realize I’ll have to ask for an extension in order to finish my work and do it right.  Man, I hate that.

I’m learning.  That’s all I can say.  Every year when I do too much, I understand the things that I need to cut out the next time.  It might be years before I’m a master at the fine art of juggling time, but I will get there.  So long as no one gives me a deadline.

The communion of other writers

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 by Maria Geraci

I had a completely different idea for this post today, but yesterday’s wonderful post by Maggie got me thinking about the writer’s life.

When I think of the public’s perception of the writer’s life I always think of that wonderful romantic comedy starring Diane Keaton and Jack Nicholson, Something’s Gotta Give. You know the movie? The one where Diane Keaton is this famous playwright (so famous that Keanu Reeves who plays a hunky doctor in the film recognizes her name instantly). She lives in this gorgeous beach house somewhere in the northeast,. The house is decorated all in white and is never dirty. She sits at her desk (which faces the ocean) sipping on red wine and types words into her computer that instantly flow from one page to the next. Of course, there is conflict in the film, but it doesn’t stem from the fact that she’s behind on her deadline (or her mortgage payments either).

This is the kind of the writer’s life I want, damn it.

Unfortunately, I have the other kind. The kind that Maggie talked about yesterday that involves a day job, dirty laundry, and hoping behind hope that maybe one day someone will recognize your name because they have actually read your book.

So why keep writing? Why do we stay up way past our bedtime, give up watching tv at night or going to the park on Saturday to stay glued to our computer screens? Simple. Because we have to. If we wrote simply to get rich or become famous or live a glamorous life, no one would ever do it, because the writers who achieve that sort of level are few and far between. We write because we love writing. We love creating stories and characters that resonate with our readers. But writing is a lonely profession (even Diane Keaton looked a little forlorn sitting in that beautiful white chair facing the ocean) and I couldn’t help thinking at times that what she needed was a writing buddy. Or maybe several. Because let’s face it, if it wasn’t for the friendship of other writers many of us would have given up long ago.

That’s why I belong to RWA (Romance Writers of America) on the national level as well as a couple of local chapters. I belong to several online writing groups, and blogs (like this one). I Twitter with other writers, interact with them on Facebook and ask for their advice when I need it. I also try to be there when they need advice from me. The simple plain truth is that writers need other writers. Not just for networking (although networking is important) but we need the daily interaction of other writers to keep up our morale, improve our writing and to stay current in the business.

John Donne wrote “No man is an island…”  And neither is any writer. The writing life we envision (whether it’s Diane Keaton’s life in the film or the fantasy of writing in a secluded cabin in the mountains) is for the most part, just that, a fantasy. It’s not the reality for the majority of writers in America. And if you wait until you have the perfect environment or the perfect situation in which to write, you’ll never get it done. Writing is messy work. It’s done on the kitchen table, in the car waiting for kids to finish soccer practice and yes (as one writer in my local chapter told us today in our writers loop) while waiting on the gyno table for her annual pap. It’s done in spurts or long segments in the wee hours of the morning. It’s solitary work, but it’s celebrated by other writers, our friends and comrades in paper who understand that life is messy and that we need one another to keep going. So thanks, friends! I write because I love doing it, but I keep doing it because I have your support.


Diane Keaton’s kitchen from Something’s Gotta Give. Sigh. Maybe one day!

Maria Geraci writes fun, romantic women’s fiction. You can connect with her on her website at www.mariageraci.com.


The Boyfriend of the Month Club is immensely sexy, immensely satisfying and humorous.”

Portland Book Review

A Glass Slipper in a Stiletto Heel

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by Laura Spinella

When the fabulous Susan McBride invited me to guest blog at The Stiletto Gang, I was intimidated. I haven’t owned a pair of stiletto heels since—well, frankly, I don’t think I’ve ever owned stiletto heels. Not by lack of desire, I simply have feet more akin to a duck than a diva, and therefore have never been a candidate for sexy footwear. But considering I was to lead with my writing and not my wardrobe, I figured I could muddle through.

I suspect there’s every chance you’ve never heard of me, Laura Spinella, or my book, which was released in January via Penguin Group. BEAUTIFUL DISASTER is Southern set women’s fiction with a heavy thread of romance. And by heavy thread, I mean there’s a chapter or two where stiletto heels and all the connotations fit like a glass slipper. It’s my debut novel, which makes me new to publishing. However, not so new to writing or life; I have plenty of experience there. I’ve made a modest living freelancing, but I didn’t write a novel until I was flirting with forty. I always knew I’d write a book; I just didn’t have a timeline in mind. You know how it goes. First there was one kid, and then there were two. This was followed by moves from sun-baked states to places where snow on April Fools’ Day is no joke. Eventually, I glanced down and there was a third kid. Today, he and I meet eye-to-eye, though I still find myself asking, “How did you get here?”

The truth, in part, is that I didn’t sit down to write a novel until public education took over childcare. But, mostly, I didn’t do it earlier because I didn’t know enough about life. When you write book you have to think for a lot of people. Inherently, novels involve conflict. It’s the author’s job to craft an entire world from scratch, filling it with characters and issues and outcomes that will satisfy the reader. Before forty, I had enough trouble doing that for real, never mind in a book. So here I am, at a beginning.

A debut novel can do a lot of things. It can satisfy a dream, make you Uber-popular in the car pool line, and incite opinions from strangers. Odd as it is, those strangers will decide if you’re the next Alice Hoffman or if the Author’s Guild should confiscate your laptop. It’s interesting when a debut novel skyrockets. Reviewers and readers will talk about it as if the author never hammered out a single sentence before penning their breakout novel. A book like that is often viewed as an epiphany. That or the writer cracked their head on the bathroom sink, grabbed a Ziplock bag full of ice, and proceeded to a computer where the debut novel bled from their head onto the page. I’d bet you every pair of stilettos in the Jimmy Choo collection that said author’s book had more than one inception, preceded by numerous novel attempts. And knowing the amount of attempts it takes, I feel fortunate to have made it this far. Ten weeks in and I’ve experienced some of the highs and lows of a being a published author. I’m invested now, carefully constructing my sophomore effort. Hopefully, it won’t suffer a sophomore jinx. Either way, one thing is for certain, in front of me is a debut novel with my name on it.

Thank you for having me, ladies. I don’t know if I’ll be a writer in my next life, but I’m definitely coming back as a 7 ½ narrow. For more info on BEAUTIFUL DISASTER or other inane tidbits, visit my website, http://www.lauraspinella.net/.

Laura is giving away a copy of BEAUTIFUL DISASTER to one lucky Stiletto Gang reader! Just leave a comment on her post through Sunday at noon. She’ll randomly pick a winner on Sunday afternoon! Plus, if you visit her blog and post a comment any time through March, you’ll get another chance to win!