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Not really, it’s a line in the chorus of my current favorite song, Lotto by the Korean pop group EXO.
I actually listen to a lot of Kpop while I write. My Pandora has its own channel, and I listen to the nightcore versions while I wait for caffeine and food on Sundays. Weird, I know, but we writers aren’t normal people. We sit for long stretches of time, pounding words into laptops, computers and journals, lost in our own little worlds.
And my world just happens to have a sound track of danceable tunes in a language I know dick-all off.
Writers, do you write with music? What kind? I’m curious.
Follow me there where I blog about deliberate choices in my writing!
I’m feeling generous, so there is a small possibility that I will be giving away a copy of Shaken Up during this tour.
Watch the space to see if that pans out and what you need to do to get your virtual hands on the first of my first series!
Okay, that drained me. I turned around and leaned on the sink, speaking loud enough for everyone to hear. “So, this foster home is a couple of hours north of here. Who’s up for a road trip?”
The looks I got ranged from confusion to pure WTF?
Jonathan was the first to speak. “Patch?”
“Where’d this come from?” Cristian stood from the couch, where he and Lala were talking costumes or something.
“Our chat in the car helped. But I don’t want to be like my mom, just throwing me away with barely a care. I want to see her myself before I sign her away. Maybe she’ll get lucky and get a good family.”
“She?” Dean said from my other side.
Since I’m not obsessively checking my cell for posts and shit before breakfast on Sundays, my word count has like…jumped.
I know, duh, but I didn’t really realize it until this week.
Of course, it’s probably going to go straight to hell after this, but it was nice for now.
Also, I’ve seen a peek at the cover for Settling Down, and I haven’t stopped squeeing. I must do a cover reveal. But how?
Don’t worry, I don’t mean here.
My really real for real self was getting burned out on her Social Justice Warrioring to the point that she was getting even more depressed than determined. Even snarking at the commenters who tried to fuck around didn’t cheer her up anymore.
So, as of last Friday, she closed her Facebook, Twitter, and Tumblr tags, and for the next two weeks, there will be no checking on anything.
So far, she’s been playing a lot of The Sims 3 and surfing through the time sink that is TV Tropes.
As for me, I’m still here, I’m still writing, and I’m still thinking about things to Facebook or Tweet or even blog. I’ve looked at blogs from some of my favorite writers, and they seem to be slice of life type posts with their writing process or progress sprinkled in. Which is awesome. I’m think I should totally steal that…if more stuff happened to me.
(This may surprise a lot of folks that have met me, especially at GRLs past, but I’m actually quite the recluse)
Ah well, I’m trying my best to be more engaged with y’all.
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?
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.
I know, it’s been weeks since I’ve been around, but I have a good excuse for it this time, y’all!
And my reason is this:
Some of you are nodding in sympathy, others are going “WUH?” Allow me to explain.
This is what you look like when you have a sleep study. You get all of this sensors and wires stuck on you (chest and legs too) and then you attempt to sleep on a mattress that I swore was made of rocks.
While you’re being monitored.
Needless to say, it took a good long while for me to recover from this long enough to even want to leave the house, never mind write.
This was so much torture that I might even make a character go through it.
Thoughts on who?