WIP Wednesday?

Not much on my mind, other than missing Prince. I wore purple to go out writing on Sunday. I live in Minneapolis, and the town is like half mourning and half partying, with a block party that lasted all weekend downtown and people over at his home at Paisley Park doing a vigil.

Wild.

So, with nothing else on my mind, I present to you a bit of my work in progress from the sequel to This Little Whatever, tentative titled How to Solve a Problem Like Patch:

I nodded, and sighed. “I’m real fucked up, ain’t I?”

“Welcome to the club, Patch. We’re all a little fucked up here.”

Blink. Did Dean just curse?

Before I could even react to that, he was sliding out off the stool. “Look, panic attacks are a real pain, but you’re not alone. I’m glad you came home and not had to spend a night at the ER. You probably didn’t embarass yourself as badly as you think. You can’t be the only person in that group with anxieties.”

“Thanks, Pollyanna,” I got off the stool and grabbed both empty plates as Dean turned on the oven fan to help suck up the scent of glorious pig bits before Jonathan got home. He cooked, so I had the dishes to rinse and put in the dishwasher.

What to do with Ollie’s Jock?

Ollie’s Jock is now all mine again, but it’s a bit too short for resubmit anywhere, so I’ve been thinking about what to do with it.

I did a pretty shit job of promoting it when it came out on Torque Press (then again, I do a shit job at promoting most of my stuff, but this was a far worse case), which is a shame, because I think it’s a hot piece of Dom/Sub smut.

So, I thought about some more, and I think it’s going to be a freebie. I’ll have to get a new cover for it, learn how to format an ebook – thank fuck for Scrivener making that easy. I think it will be a learning experience.

And, in the name of actually promoting myself, here’s the synopsis:

Football jock Larry did well this past semester, thanks to his tutor, “out and proud” Oliver’s help. Due to the rules that keep their social groups separate, thanking Oliver in public is considered a big risk to Larry’s standing with the jocks. Larry takes a chance anyway during the last party of the year, and retaliation is instant and messy.

Afterwards, Larry gets a chance text that sends him straight to Oliver’s apartment. What keeps bringing Larry back to see his tutor? What secrets do the two keep behind closed doors?

Finding Time to Write

Normally I have scheduled two days a week to leave the house, head to the coffee shop, and write for about 2-3 hours: Wednesday and Sunday. This worked great when I was working, just take the bus a few blocks further and there I was during the work week and drive on Sundays.

Then fibromyalgia hit me like a truck and I couldn’t work anymore.  Oh boy, more time to write, right?

Wrong. See, I can’t write at home.  I can edit, I can go over edits, but I can’t write. First problem is my computer. It’s got too much distraction on it with my games and my Facebook and YouTube and stuff.  I use a laptop for all of my authorly stuff. Next problem is a lack of places to comfortably write.  I’ve tried writing on the back balcony and in bed and at a table in the office: none are very comfortable for long periods of time before my body just says “Stop or you’ll regret it.”

Then I go, “I already regret this.”

And it goes, “Touche.”

Add the cats who either want all of the pets or are at each others throats and I can’t get shit done. Never mind not being able to afford to pay the toll for spending so much time in the coffee shop: at least two drinks.

Okay, my partner started working from home on Thursdays. Perfect! Two days of driving a week.  It was awesome until the days of working from home changed to Tuesdays and Wednesdays. Two days that I usually have therapy.

Now I only have Sundays, which is why this damn novel is taking a million years to write. Trying to figure out how to eek in one more day, maybe even two is going to take some juggling.

But I’ll find a way.

 

Watching Your Baby Get Torn Apart

Editing is probably the worst part of the writing process for most writers.  For me, it’s promotion, because I can hardly believe anyone would want to read my stuff (hello impostor syndrome, how are you?).

But I’m gonna talk about edits, because no one wants to hear me moan about not feeling good enough.

It’s one thing to go through your own work, unable to believe you spelled ‘writer’ with two T’s and how the hell did you get “you’re” and “your” mixed up.  It’s another to think you’ve edited to the best of your ability – and have another person point out all of the wrong you missed.  And I don’t mean that my lovely and wonderful editors are being mean or anything, this is their job.  I mean that I’m shocked that I missed this and that and really, Nicole, really, how the fuck did that get there?

If I had enough ego, it would be quite bruised. But sometimes you have to suck it up and deal, because even though you’re watching your story, your baby, getting pulled apart, it will turn out to be the best it can be when it gets put back together.

That metaphor is terrible. But you get the point, right?

Now if I can only get an editor for my blog posts…