A Rose By Any Other Name…

The door slammed open, and there she stood, highlighted in the doorway by the setting sun behind her. For a moment, everything was still.

Ravenna DarkEye, they whispered. Assassin. Lone Wolf. No one to trifle with.

The slight breeze blew at The DarkEye’s hair, lifting it slightly, but beyond that she could have been a statue. Hers was a cold, dangerous stillness, and everyone knew it.

She moved inside, the door shutting slowly behind her. Her weight balanced easily over the balls of her feet, and her step was silent. Her stride was long, and loose-limbed – hunter’s grace and quiet athleticism in her lean, rangy build.

All eyes were on her as the crowd gathered there held their breath. They were motionless, an instinctive freezing- the hare before the hunting fox. This was a formidable, capable woman.

Ravenna reached the front, leaning one-elbowed on the counter. The shopkeep behind it swallowed, the sound eerily loud in the unnatural silence.

“Can I…. can I help you?”

“Coffee.” Ravenna paused, staring hard, and then added, “Black. Strong.”

Everyone nodded. Of course. Of course a woman like this would take her coffee black. None of that sissy stuff, not for a warrior such as she—

“Ma’am? Ma’am? Excuse me, ma’am?”

“What? Oh. Oh, sorry, I was daydreaming. Hi.”

“Welcome to Starbucks! What can I get you?”

“I’ll take a grande salted caramel latte, but can I substitute white mocha instead of the regular mocha?”

“Of course.”

“And only half sweet please – just 2 pumps of toffee nut, and two pumps of white mocha….and instead of regular milk, can you make it breve, – with the half and half?”

“Certainly! That will be –“

“Oh! I almost forgot. Can I get it in a venti cup instead of a grande cup, so I can extra, extra whipped cream?”

“Of course.”

“Name on the cup?”

“Becky Bean.”

“Oh my gosh, what an absolutely adorable name! I love it! Becky Bean! It sounds like a character from a book.”

“Thanks. I always thought it sounded like the comedic sidekick, or something. But it suits me. You got the extra, extra whipped cream part, right?”

“Yup!”

“Thanks.”

How Not to Write a Book

The Crappy Dragon Book is really coming along.

Mel and I are a pretty good team. . Oh, sure, we’re still in that butterflies and rainbows “dating” part of our work relationship.  I get that.  Still, we work well together. Our strengths/weaknesses really compliment each other.

I think in a perfect world she and I could regularly churn out 3-4 books a year.  I’m not just saying that – I know exactly how much work goes into a book.  The thing is, there’s a lot of forward momentum when you have someone to regularly brainstorm with, and it’s easier to avoid dead ends with two sets of eyes.  Also, we both type fast.  I’m not sure where she is, but I know that when I know what I want to write, I can churn out a clean 2-3,000 words in under two hours. Most of my blog posts take me about 30-45 minutes, from beginning to end.

Three to four books a year is actually a low estimate of what we could do, in a perfect world. I’m taking into account that we would have to plot out and write new books every single year, year after year, and lowering the number accordingly.

I mean, drive is not a problem.  I can’t stop writing.  Oh, sure, sometimes the words dry up to a trickle, but whenever I go too long without writing, I end up narrating things in my head.  The words are there, and they demand an outlet.

Drive is obviously not a problem with Mel, either.  I mean, she doesn’t just run.  She runs ultras.  And she doesn’t just run ultras…. oh no.  No, that’s not hard enough.

I kid you not, the woman just posted something about how she wishes she could run a 200 mile race.

A.

Two.

Hundred.

Mile.

Race.

WHAT IS WRONG WITH HER?!  I don’t even like driving that far without plenty of snacks, and a book on tape, and a really good reason.

So, yeah.  We could do it, in a perfect world.  Easy peasy.

There’s just one problem with that:

We don’t live in a perfect world.

Mel and I both have full time jobs.  We both have kids.  We both have animals we need to care for, and husbands who want love and attention, and house stuff that goes awry.

The truth is, whenever I had this mental image of me for-real working on a book, it always looked so peaceful, so creatively serene.  The light would filter in through the windows, afternoon sun filtered into a golden haze.  The breeze would stir the curtains slightly, casting shadows against the art on the wall.  There’d be a meaningful paperweight sitting at the corner of my desk, from which I would draw inspiration when times got tough.  I’d be sitting at some kind of giant mahogany desk, leaning back in my chair with my brow furrowed.  My head would be tipped back and I’d gaze at the ceiling as I fought to find the right word, the right descriptor, the right plot twist……. and then, suddenly, everything would click into place. I would nod my head decisively, bend forward over the keyboard, and my fingers would begin to fly as the world that lived in my mind spilled forward into living words.

Can’t you just see it? Isn’t it beautiful?

Yeah.

That is NOT what real life writing looks like at all… at least not for me.

Here is a list of real-life issues that have occurred while Mel and I were working on the book:

  • Sorry, BRB, I need to go clean up kid vomit.
  • Sorry, BRB, my car is crashed.
  • Sorry, BRB, gotta cook dinner for the kids.
  • Sorry, BRB, I need to go hose puke off the car seat.
  • Sorry, BRB, friend died
  • Sorry, BRB, there is diarrhea all over the couch.
  • Sorry, BRB, I need to go run a 100 mile race.
  • Sorry, BRB, goats are puking.
  • Sorry, BRB, dying family member.
  • Sorry, BRB, all four kids are fighting.
  • Sorry, BRB, haven’t slept in two days.
  • Sorry, BRB, my mom broke her leg.
  • Sorry, BRB, computer broke.
  • Sorry, BRB, gotta operate on a cat.

actual photo from one of our Facebook plotting sessions

 

Author life: It’s such a glamorous life.