Feeling productive

Despite overbooking myself for volunteer work, crazy amounts of actual work, planting our garden and an all day garage clean out project, work on the back half of Trust is still clipping along at a productive pace. Who needs sleep?

Everything is falling into place. Connections are presenting themselves that allow for further word count reduction. More description, motivation and tension is working its way in.

I start each writing session by reading the previous session's words. So far, only minor tweaking. No fits of 'OMG, this is crap!', or 'what was I on yesterday? This makes no sense'. We'll see if it all flows as nicely during the overall read through, but so far, I'm feeling positive.

Here's to hoping I didn't just jinx myself. Now, back to writing.

Six Sentence Sunday: Sahmara's Sunset 5

This this week's excerpt: In order to offer Sara protection from the rough band of men Sahmara travels with, she has claimed Sara as her own. Sara isn't exactly opposed to the arrangment.

Sara leaned forward and planted a wine flavored kiss on Sahmara’s lips.

With the haze of the quickly downed glass of wine and the rush of the swordfight, Sahmara was quite enjoying herself. Sara’s thin, delicate fingers intertwined with her own. The sound of Olando choking on his wine broke them apart at last.

“Are you all right?” Sahmara grabbed the cup from his hand and patted him on the back.

I hope you've enjoyed these glimpses into Sahmara's Sunset. I'll be moving to another project next Sunday.

Enjoy other Six Sentence Sunday entries here.

You know you've been bit hard by the writing bug when...

It's saturday night and you're out with your husband at a packed brewery. It's filled with the sound of two hundred people talking at once. Your husband telling you how, when he comes here after work now and then, he sees crazy people taking up an entire table with their laptop and a beer while he and his friends can't find a spot to sit. And all the while you're thinking how much you'd like to be that crazy person because the chatter is a perfect white noise level and a draft beer while writing sounds wonderful. Hell, I'd even offer his friends my extra chairs as long as they'd sit somewhere else.

Six Sentence Sunday: Sahmara's Sunset 4

In this weeks excerpt: Sahamara has had pay her dues to her protector while she searches for Zane and a way home.

Half into the dream world, she tried to convince herself that it was Zane’s arm draped over her hip. The hands that had touched her in the woods had been his and his rough cheeks had been against hers. His unbound blond hair had fallen against her face as he traveled down her body, delivering kisses to every inch of her flushed skin. She could smell him, leather and oil, and breathed deep. Sahmara wanted nothing more than to feel him inside her. She moaned.

Enjoy other Six Sentence Sunday excerpts here.

Novels in the oven

For me novels are like that recipe you vaguely remember your dearly departed grandmother making in your childhood. You know what you want, but no one can tell you just how to put it all together. The exact taste is right there on the tip of your tongue, but you just can't quite name the ingredient you keep missing. And you need to give it time to cook. But now much time? Too much and it's overdone and dry, not enough and you've got a mushy mess of stark flavors on your hands (or fork).

I write a rough draft, add in some notes of intent for the really rough spots and toss that puppy in the subconsicious oven. (No real puppies were harmed during this post.) I turn the light on inside the oven and sit and stare. Nothing cooks when you watch it, I swear. So I walk away. I have no freaking idea when this meal is going to be done. Rushing the process just makes me bang my head on walls. So I go look for something to eat while I wait for the DING!

I eat my obligatory vegetables. I enjoy some broccoli while editing, some carrots while I read books and blogs on writing. Sometimes I munch on a salad go on critique sprees. I do enjoy my veggies, but I long for that main course. It smells so darn good. Why isn't it done yet?

I sneak a few pieces of chocolate cake while I read books for fun and catch up on the tv shows I otherise ignore. That cake is indulgently wonderful, but it's not filling.

Nothing quite hits the spot, so I sneak off with a sandwhich and write short stories. Filling yes, but still not what I'm craving.

And then it comes. A DING that fills my head and sends my fingers flying over the keyboard to find that draft I'd set aside so long ago. All that time waiting, smelling, drooling, and now I grab my fork and dive in. I can't stop eating. I must. Keep. Eating.

Once I wash the dishes and get over the stomach ache, I'll sit back and ponder if I got the recipe right this time. If I did, who knows, I might finally be ready to invite some friends to dinner.