The Final Excuse ~ By Leah St. James #amwriting #blackcats

Looking back over my last several posts, I’m wondering why I haven’t offered readers some cheese to go with my “whine,” especially after I read Jannine’s Recipe for Success a few days ago that featured her talented and super-hard-working daughter (like mother, like daughter!).

Yes, it seems my recent posts have fallen into a bit of a pity-partying pattern of reasons–excuses–for my lack of writing productivity over the last couple years. For any newcomers, here’s a brief recap:

First there was the Year of the Wedding.
Okay, that was true, and a joyful event. No regrets.

But here, ranked in order of most influential, are the rest.
1. A crazy full-time job that sucks my time and energy.
2. Lack of focus
3. Followed closely by focusing on business during my “creative time”
4. Losing my writing voice (probably from lack of writing)

I think there was another one in there (overall fatigue maybe?), but it doesn’t matter. What matters is that except for having to work full-time for financial reasons, these are all fixable conditions, and they’re in my control to fix. But before I move on, I’d like to wrap up this unintended series with one final roadblock.

I almost hesitate after reading Chris’s heartbreaking post about losing her beloved cat Shikari, but I hope this will give her a chuckle and help her remember the fun times they shared

Because my fifth (sixth?) and final excuse is none other than HERCULES THE CAT.

It’s been some time since I’ve written about Hercules, who is fast approaching his second birthday, and he's even bigger than he was then. Son No. 1 describes him as a “30-pound brick.” (He might not actually be that heavy, but he sure feels it when he’s sprawled across half the bed in the middle of the night.) The Plot Master (TPM) has nicknamed him “Thunderfoot” for the thuds he makes when he jumps and lands on something. (On a positive note, we generally know where he is!) He runs down the stairs down in a two-legged gait, but not the usual two legs. Instead of left/right, he vaults down front/back, like a bunny rabbit!
 

Hercules will celebrate his second birthday on May 15!

He hasn’t been a cuddler since he outgrew my lap about 15 months ago, but he is a people cat. He rarely spends time alone, and will follow us from room to room. He loves playing tag, fetch and catch, and is quite the outfielder with miniature tennis balls!

Unfortunately, his favorite time to play is 4:30 a.m., which, as I recently discovered, is my “creative” time. This has resulted in a standoff between the two of us since I altered my morning routine.

Where previously I got up and exercised first thing–while he watched–now I get up and start to write (sitting on the couch in the blessedly quiet living room). This apparently bores him, so he starts wreaking havoc everywhere he can within my vision and earshot. 

He jumps on TPM’s sacrosanct (and overly neat) desk in the corner and starts swiping things onto the floor. Pens go flying, as do neatly stacked notebooks and folders. Once he actually got his claws on our checkbook and sent it tumbling into the narrow space between the desk and wall. (That was NOT a fun morning.) 

He's watching and waiting to make his move.

 
When he tires of the desk, he starts attacking what little artwork remains hanging on our walls (after we purged the walls of anything he could reach except for a few larger pieces I refuse to take down). Or he jumps on me.

In the tiny space next to the couch (where I'm sitting), poised to snag me!

This behavior goes on until TPM comes downstairs for the day to guard his desk and the artwork, but that’s a good 60 or 90 minutes of Hercules’ playfulness to work around. And usually by then he’s tired and ready for his first nap of the day.

After a few frustrating weeks of that, I moved to the dining room where the worst he can do is rip apart my printed outline and story notes while I’m trying to read them. Have I mentioned he eats paper and cardboard? Like a billy goat? He doesn’t actually swallow, just rips with his fangs and spits the pieces out. I think he likes the shredding noise. Maybe Son No. 1 should have called him Shredder instead of Hercules.

He is NOT liking this new setup.

So that’s where things stand now–an uneasy truce with me stationed each morning at the dining room table and Hercules waiting and watching for an opportunity to get some attention. I’m counting my blessings since I never know when he might find a new method of torture–I mean fun– to try! 


And I should mention, he's giving me some great material! In my current WIP, my heroine has a black cat named Romeo. I might need to give Romeo an expanded part!

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Leah writes stories of mystery and romance, good and evil and the power of love–-that is, if Hercules lets her. She blogs here on the 6th and 22nd of each month. Learn more at leahstjames.com or visit her on Facebook.  

Saved by the #amwriting deadline ~ by Leah St. James

Several of our Roses have written in the past few months about being stuck in the writing doldrums, or something similar, where circumstances and/or mood keep the Muse away. I’m no different. In fact, I’ve shared in previous posts that I’ve been stuck in that mode for quite some time. Recently, though, I’ve started coming out of it, and I thought I’d share a what snapped me out of it.

It all started last fall when I was trying to write my short holiday story for our blog. We’d had the first line for months, and ideas had been floating around in my brain since, but I was having a hard time coming up with an actual story. The date of my first post kept creeping closer and closer like some creature with its claws out, ready to gouge me! Each time I’d post a monthly blog, I’d see more and more Roses who’d finished their stories and had them queued up for publication, and I still hadn’t started mine!

By the time Thanksgiving rolled around, I was starting to worry, and for the first time I started to doubt my ability to get the story done. I knew I could ask one of my fellow Roses to swap dates with me, and I’m confident someone would have graciously agreed, but that wasn’t the point. The point was that I needed to find a way out of this myself. Because there was no real reason I was behind—no family crisis, no visitors, no illnesses. Just my normal routine.

Finally, I settled on my idea and started writing. The story was shaping up, I was feeling confident and about three-quarters done. Then the writer’s worst nightmare happened—less than a week before my posting date, I somehow wrote over my document with something entirely different. And – poof! – like that my hard-fought words were gone. DID I MENTION IT WAS LESS THAN A WEEK FROM MY POSTING DATE!?

When I realized what I’d  done, I wanted to cry. I think I did let out an inhuman-like wail that caused my husband to come running, then pooh-pooh me like it wasn’t a real crisis. (What does HE know anyway?!)

After a frantic search of my computer, I located three or four old versions that I’d somehow had the foresight to save under a different name, so at least I had a foundation. The basic plot hadn’t changed, but a lot of the details had. I remembered enough that I knew it was salvageable, but the clock was ticking.

 

I couldn’t take any time off from the day job, and by the end of the work day my brain is dead, so I did the unthinkable. I sacrificed my morning exercise and promo/email/blog-raading time to work on the story before work. Thankfully I got the story done (although probably with a few glitches I didn’t pick up on in my rush), but in the process, I discovered something amazing.

Writing at 4:25 a.m., when my brain is still half asleep, released the creativity I’d been missing for so  long, but more than that, it rekindled my love of writing. Somehow my brain likes writing before dawn. Who knew?!

I’m a creature of habit, AND the kind of person who likes to get the icky tasks out of the way before I let myself do the fun stuff.  So for several years I’ve been following the same pre-work routine:  get up early, exercise, take care of the  writing “business” stuff, then try to write, then go to the day job. It hasn’t worked. I think by waking myself up with non-creative things, I locked my thinking into that business-like frame, and once there, I couldn’t get it back, even on weekends when I didn’t have to go to work.

Bull-headed, I didn’t quite recognize this about myself until after the first of the year and I’d settled back into that routine. I’d been making slow progress on my WIP, but at the rate I  was going, it would take another year to finish. I knew something had to change.

When  I’d managed to write the holiday story in record  time, I assumed it was the deadline and the thought of having to admit failure that lit the fire, and that was true. It forced me to come up with a solution. Analyzing it after the fact, though, I remembered how good it felt, even under pressure, to put words and sentences together first thing after waking. So I took a leap and rearranged my pre-work routine. For the past couple weeks I’ve been getting up at the same time, then stagger downstairs, get myself a cup of strong tea, and settle down to write. And miraculously, it’s working!

I’m averaging 500-700 words each morning before work, finally making progress on my long-neglected WIP. In fact, I’m having a hard time yanking myself from my laptop to get to the rest of my day. (Back to reality? Nooooooooo!)

On the negative side, the “business” needs are suffering. I’m posting far less frequently on my Facebook page, for example, but I figure hardly anyone was reading it anyway, so no real harm. And once I have this story in production, I can ramp up my efforts.

So if you’re stuck in the writing blues and missing your Muse, maybe try to figure out when you get the most joy from writing and refocus your efforts on that time of the day or place. It can’t hurt to try! And if you're in a place where you're having a tough time finding joy in anything, give yourself time to heal, to recover...to regain your balance. The joy will find you when you're ready.

Happy writing.

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Leah writes stories of mystery and romance, good and evil and the power of love.  Learn more at LeahStJames.com.

Boredom

"The freedom of boredom...fosters creativity" -- Mollie Cox Bryan

I can honestly say I have never been bored for longer than fifteen minutes in my entire life. From the time I was a wee thing, I was curious about the world as I knew it, that is, in about a three-foot-wide circle I could reach by crawling. Grass and pebbles outside, table legs and my grandmother's shoes inside. Everything was fascinating.

As I grew older, I stopped putting everything in my mouth and began listening to people's voices, to music, to birdsong. I could sit quietly for hours listening to my grandmother or mother read to me. I eavesdropped on grownups' conversation without understanding much of it.

I learned to talk. I learned I could have my own opinions, although wanting a snack before dinner wasn't an encouraged opinion. I grew up strong-willed, stubborn, obstinate even. I met my first imaginary friend who didn't mind my strong opinions. She loved me for who I was; I loved her because she was fun to play with. No, she didn't exist but that didn't matter. She did in my head.

Those traits help now that I'm a full-time writer. I still have imaginary friends, many of whom live much more interesting lives than I do. I have voices in my head telling me stories, some of which I write in my books. I can still sit and play with these imaginary friends for hours on end, fingers flying over the keyboard, making the stories come to life on the page.

Boredom? Not in my vocabulary. Not in my life.

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Betsy Ashton is the author of Mad Max, Unintended Consequences, and Uncharted Territory, A Mad Max Mystery, which is now available in e-book at Amazon and Barnes and Noble.

Gifts From the Garden Month

I absolutely love my backyard garden. I’ve got a peach tree, blueberry bushes, grape vines, herbs, and dozens of flowering plants. In this space, I find so much beauty, peace, and creativity. I thought I’d share a few original poems that have been inspired by my garden.

Dragonfly

On wispy wings

you take to flight

flittering through

bright sunlight

Spring blossoms

draw you near

I’ll love you

from a distance here

Stopping for

a moment’s rest

before continuing

on your quest

Glittery trail

left behind

a touch of magic

to remind

Natural wonders

although small

are treasures

for us all.

Summer is over.

The sun feels it.

The gardens feel it.

I feel it.

It brings such bitter sadness

that perishing with the fragrant blossoms

tempts me.

The cardinal's song,

once a lively melody,

now falls like a dirge on my ears.

Summer is over.

and yet, the leaves,

once August green,

have donned an autumn costume.

Chestnut, amber, crimson, maize,

the colors, like a harvest paintbox,

wave in the crisp air.

Cinnamon and cider breathe

a second wind into me.

I shall face a season more

among the pumpkins and apples of fall,

and await a new Summer’s dawning.

Listen

the Earth whispers my name
on her caressing breezes
her hearbeat drums
in time with my own
birdsong echoes in my mind
sweet music
if only we'd all listen to her plea
she'd stay beautiful
for eternity 

I challenge you to sit outside somewhere with a notebook and a pen. Empty your mind of everything. Leave the stress, the tension, the annoyances of life inside. Keep your eyes open and on the nature around you. Let the Muse whisper in your ear on the breeze and see where you end up. I’ll guarantee you two things. One, you will write something on that page whether you meant to or not. Two, you’ll feel so in sync with nature you’ll wonder why you don’t do this every day.

How does a garden inspire you?

Chris

www.christinedepetrillo.weebly.com