Writing When You're Not Loving It by Alicia Dean

We all know that writing is often a struggle, regardless of what we're writing. But, I've found, (which really is a no-brainer), that when I'm trying to force something that I'm not enjoying, it becomes a dreaded chore. And, the results suck. For various reasons over the years, I've become involved in writing stories of a specific type or theme, due to special 'calls for submission' or a joint project with other authors, etc. 

It's difficult to write when you're not in the zone, when you're not enthused, but I always try to make myself power through. Sometimes, to my surprised delight, even the forced stories will click and I end up liking them after all.  An example is an anthology I became involved in where the stories had to be set in Africa, and had to be very short. I thought of and discarded a few plot ideas, and finally settled on one that I wasn't all that enthused about. But, I forced myself to keep writing, and I ended up with a story I don't hate. :) 

Has that ever happened with you? Do you have any tricks to making the words flow even when you're not feeling the love?

Below is a bit about the story, which should be releasing soon. (We had some glitches with a few authors in the anthology, but I believe all is just about resolved). I shared an excerpt a little while back, but this is a different excerpt, from the opening. 

Blurb:

After dying for the third time, unloved and unlovable Autumn Baines is running out of chances to avoid purgatory. For her latest life, she’s sent to the Serengeti, where she’ll have to perform a selfless act and find someone to love her. She sees her chance with the arrival of widowed father Logan McBride and his teen daughter.

Faced with an opportunity to make a tremendous sacrifice, she’ll have to decide…can she forego her eternal happiness to give them theirs?

Excerpt:

The third time Autumn Baines died was the most painful, the most horrific. She’d been warned that would happen. Each of her deaths would continue to get worse. This time it had been a high speed car accident where she’d been trapped for hours, pinned beneath the steering wheel, gasping for breath, begging for help. The paramedics had arrived and performed a long, agonizing extraction, but she died in the ambulance before they reached the hospital.

She shuddered and banished the disturbing image, focusing on the now. Her guardian angel, Milo, sat across the table. The glow around him was so intense, had he not been black, he would have faded into the whiteness of the room. So much white—walls, chairs, floor, desk. The first few times she’d been in this room, the starkness had been blinding, but she was growing used to it.

He frowned disapprovingly. “Back again, I see.”

She lifted her hands, palms up. “Well, you know, dying is so much fun, I can’t resist.”

“You joke, but you know that, eventually, you’ll use up all your chances. And then…”

“I know, I know. Eternal damnation.” Her tone was light, but her heart pounded, and her stomach clenched in terror. As much as the thought horrified her, why couldn’t she do what she needed to do to avoid it? What was wrong with her?

Sympathy flashed over Milo’s face, then he schooled his expression into neutrality. Sounding like a judge handing down a sentence, he said, “Autumn Baines, after your first death, due to your selfishness and acts of unkindness, you were sentenced to eternal damnation. However, based on the—”

“Come on,” she interrupted. “It’s not like I haven’t heard this before. Twice.”

“Yes, but you know we have to go over it again. That way, you can’t claim you weren’t given all the facts.”

She smirked. “Like, I could take God to court?”

He gave her an exasperated look. “Just let me do my job, okay?”

“Fine.” She sat back in the chair and crossed her arms, waiting. It wasn’t like she was in a hurry to begin her third life anyway. So far, they hadn’t been exactly paradise. Paradise, hmmm…now that was something she could get behind. Maybe they were sending her to the Bahamas this time. She listened patiently, her hope growing that they’d give her a nice little hut on the beach with a horde of cabana boys to see to her every whim.

“However,” Milo continued, “after reviewing your life, it came to our attention that, while you had never performed a selfless act, you also had never, in your twenty-eight years, had one single person to love you.” He looked up at her, no doubt to gauge her emotions.

The words were cruel, but she knew Milo’s intentions were not. He was kind-hearted and sympathized with her plight, but he needn’t bother. So what if no one, including her own mother, had ever loved her? She’d known plenty of people who had been loved, and they were unhappy—many were even more screwed up than she was. 

What the Heck Was I Thinking? by Betsy Ashton

A bit of background before I get into how I shot myself in the foot. Which I did last year. When I volunteered for a monumental task.

For the past four years, I've been the president of a state-wide writers club. I was term-limited when I stepped down last November. I shed massive amounts of crocodile tears. I was free of the responsibility for moving the club ahead. I looked forward to spending more time and gray cells on my books. I promised to support the new president. And then she asked if I'd head up the centennial planning and celebration. I said yes.

What was I thinking?

For any organization to turn 100 is a huge accomplishment and should be celebrated far and wide, well, at least state-wide. That means special speakers. That means special events. That means -- wait for it. AN ANTHOLOGY.

I not only built the plan for the centennial, I'm knee deep in executing it. I have a lot of help from volunteers throughout the club. I ask for volunteers for a specific event or task. I haven't asked people to sit on the committee full-time. We're writers, for heaven's sake. If we have "full-time," it's for writing, not for meetings.

Last year I put out a call for submissions in three categories: poetry, short stories, and essays. I gave everyone three months to submit "their best work" in any category. I didn't set parameters for topics, for example, although I did have limits on the number of contributions each writer could submit.

The stack, printed out with two pages per sheet, is three inches tall. You read that right. Three inches tall. I have two editors for each section reading for selection purposes. I have also read each entry and made my suggestions. As the executive editor, I have the final say, although I can be bribed. Think triple-black Porsche 911 Carrera Cabriolet.

I can't believe how many of our members write at a professional level. Since I encouraged selections from previously published works, I have so many that are outstanding. Make that Out.Stand.Ing. The selection process is going to be difficult. Sometime in the next few weeks, I will have to tell some writers they didn't make it. And I'll have to tell some that they did. Those that don't make it deserve to know why.

Some are easy to pass up, namely those with crazy ideas of verb tense that would require more time than I have to edit into an acceptable format. Four stories and one essay are "almost there." If these make the cut, I'll ask for the author to edit them with suggestions for where the work should be changed. I'm less certain about the poems, but two poets who have published widely themselves read the entries and made the first cuts.

We agreed at the board of governors meeting when we started this process that the Chicago Manual of Style would have the final word. It lives on my desk. Some prose writers may not like it, but if they don't use the SERIAL COMMA, either they accept my edits or I thank them very much and drop them.

And once the anthology is done and at the printers, I have a 300-item task list of things I have to do this year to bring the centennial to life.

So, what was I thinking? If you see me raise my hand for ANYTHING, please feel free to put me in a straight jacket.

###

Betsy Ashton is the author of the Mad Max mystery series, Mad Max Unintended Consequences and Uncharted Territory. Her work has appeared in several anthologies including Reflections  on Smith Mountain Lake, Voices from Smith Mountain Lake, and Candles of Hope. Some of her essays have been featured on NPR.

When Writers Go Bad by Betsy Ashton

Writers can go bad. Some should have a "use-by" date on them. Others should be prevented from writing from time to time. To that end, a group of eleven writers in Lake Writers, a subchapter of The Virginia Writers Club, and the literary arts group of Smith Mountain Arts Council, set out last year to write the worst book ever. Think Bulwer-Lytton and "It was a dark and stormy night" on steroids.

This group of wickedly funny writers laid down certain rules. The main character, Lorelei Leigh Lakewurst, has long, flowing auburn tresses which she constantly tosses and emerald green eyes that flash at the blink of an eye. Stories have to take place on, in, under or around Smith Mountain Lake. There was no such thing as too many adjectives strung together, too many adverbs modifying too many dialog tags.

For example, the first time Lorelei attends a Lake Writers meeting, she meets Myown Poveratti, or POV. A plastic surgeon, he focuses on her heaving bosom. As Lorelei begins to get serious about writing, she says candidly, "I'd decided to write about an alluring s-x goddess who swims naked in the lake every month of the year. Why naked, you ask? Because I am allergic to spandex, that's why. And I intended to write what I know--just like I learned from my author buddies at Lake Writers. How else would I KNOW what it feels like to swim nated in February?" You get the idea.

Not only is the writing, um, odd, so is the production of the book itself. Fonts change from chapter to chapter or within a chapter. Line spacing flips from single spaced to double. An editor address "O Gentle Reader" directly to explain what has just happened, in case the reader is too, um, feeble-minded to understand for him/herself.

The back of the book warns: DON'T BUY THIS BOOK! in red. DON'T READ THIS BOOK! in red. And it comes with a warning: "if you persist in reading this dreadful book, the members of Lake Writers take no responsibility for any damage to your intellect or sensibilities. You have been warned."

In true writer/disclaimer fashion, none of my words are in this novel, although my copy has numerous coffee splurts.

Nekked Came the Swimmer is a project to raise money for scholarships given out by the Smith Mountain Arts Council. A mere $10 spent on Amazon  will give you minutes of laughter. It's such a small amount of money that I know you can afford to own one of your own. Believe me, you will regret it.

So, how about helping me raise a bit of money for scholarships. Follow the link above. I'll be forever grateful, wildly happy, bosom heaving with emotion. Or some such rot.

###

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

Christmas Sham by Alicia Dean - Chapter Four - The End

(For previous chapters, scroll to the bottom of the page and click 'Older Posts')

Chapter Four

Relief and gratitude fluttered in Nina’s heart. “What about your family? Suzette? Won’t she gloat that your ‘girlfriend’ abandoned you? You’ll have to sit through their wedding alone.”

“I don’t give a damn what any of them think. I never should have cared in the first place. I’m sorry I ruined Christmas for you. No wonder you and the other employees call me Jack the Jerk.”

His words took her by surprise, and heat flooded her cheeks. “You knew about that?”

He laughed. “Of course. It’s apt, perhaps, but not very original. Maybe something like Trescott the Terrible would have been more clever.”

She smiled. “I think both would have been way off base.”

He smiled back. “Let’s go home and get your suitcase. I’ll take you to the airport.”
For a moment, she wanted to remind him about the almost kiss that had been interrupted, to ask if they could take up where they left off, but this had all been just a ruse. Even though she’d seen a kinder side to him, even though he’d said he was attracted to her, she was still just an employee.

****

Nina had convinced Jack to let her take a cab rather than his driving to the airport this late, and an hour later, she was waiting in the foyer with him.

“I’m really sorry about all this.”  He cupped her cheek. “My plan was foolish. I was trying to save face and just ended up being humiliated all the more.” He exhaled long and hard. “And I caused you a lot of heartache in the process.”

“I’m sorry Suzette hurt you.”

“I think it hurt more that my brother…” He shrugged. “Well, you know.”

She nodded. “I know.”

A horn sounded from outside. “That must be your cab.” Jack took her suitcase. “The family is in bed. I’ll tell them goodbye for you.”

She followed Jack outside. He opened the taxi door for her and helped her inside, then leaned in. Now would she finally get that kiss? It would be a good-bye kiss, but still…

“Well, you have a safe flight. Merry Christmas, Nina.” He straightened from the window.

Disappointment weighted her chest. “Merry Christmas, Jack.” But he wouldn’t have a Merry Christmas, would he? Staying here, watching his brother marry his ex, and knowing people were either smirking about him or feeling sorry for him. And, truth be told, her Christmas wouldn’t be as Merry without him… “Jack?”

“Yeah?” He bent, leaning his arms on the door.

“Uhm, how would you… I mean, I know it can’t be pleasant facing what you’ll be facing tomorrow. What would you think about coming with me?”

His brows rose. “To your mom’s for Christmas?”

Nina nodded.

“I don’t think she’d be happy about a complete stranger imposing on your family time. Besides, I appreciate the gesture, but you don’t have to pity me. I’ll get through it. No worries.”

“I didn’t offer out of…” She paused. What was she doing, begging? No sir, no way. Bottom line, he didn’t want to come. He’d rather deal with the dysfunctional mess of his family than spend Christmas with her. Message received. “Never mind. I understand. See you at the office.” She sat back in the seat, pretending his rejection didn’t bother her and wondering why it did.  Ridiculous. Twenty-four hours ago, she’d barely known him. Hadn’t even liked him.

Jack seemed about to say something, then he shook his head and stepped away. When the cab drove off, she tried not to, but couldn’t resist looking back at him. He stood in the circle drive, watching. A lump rose to her throat, and moisture filled her eyes. She desperately wanted to see her mother, but why did the thought of leaving Jack behind hurt so much?

****

Nina settled into the seat of the plane and looked out the window at the stars twinkling in the darkened sky. Poor Jack. What a lousy Christmas he was going to have. Watching your former girlfriend marry your brother had to suck.

Jack’s flight attendant, Bonnie, a twenty-something girl with a tight blond ponytail came by. “I’m afraid there will be a slight delay.”

Uneasiness slithered through Nina. “Is everything okay? Because if there’s something wrong with the plane, I can take a commercial flight.”

Bonnie smiled. “No, nothing like that. The captain took a phone call and was asked to wait before taking off.”

Nina frowned. “Okay, thank you.”

Ten minutes passed, and Nina was about to go up front to check with the pilot when the door opened. Her pulse rate kicked into high gear when Jack entered the cabin. Her breath caught and a silly surge of hope took hold. She forced back her excitement. There had to be some practical reason for his visit.

“Hi,” she said, trying to sound nonchalant. “Did I forget something?”

He stared down at her in silence for several seconds. “No, I did.”

“What?”

He bent and took her face in his hands. His eyes lowered to her lips, and her stomach lurched. “This,” he murmured. His lips claimed hers, firm and soft at the same time, seeking, taking, tasting…

This was different…so different than the earlier kiss. This one was meant to be savored, and she did, reveling in the warmth of his tongue, inhaling his masculine scent, and the touch of mint on his breath.

After he broke the kiss, she stared up at him, dazed. “Jack…I don’t get it. What are you…?”

He let out a sigh and dropped into the seat beside her, taking both her hands in his. “I couldn’t let you go without telling you.”

When he didn’t continue, she said, “Telling me what?”

He shook his head. “I don’t really know how to say it, except that these past twelve hours have been the best of my life. I’m not ready for them to end.”

“You—you’re not?”

“No.” He grazed her cheek with his thumb and smiled tenderly. “I also don’t want to wake up on Christmas without you.”

Shock and joy rendered her speechless. She wanted to say “yes, oh yes, hell yes,” but it had happened so suddenly. This was about more than just accepting her invitation to spend Christmas with her family. This was some kind of…declaration. But did he mean it? Or was he just trying to soothe his hurt over Suzette?

She didn’t realize she was taking so long to respond until a shuttered look came over his face. “Never mind, this was foolish. Just because I feel the way I do, it doesn’t mean you feel the same.” He tightened his jaw. “I’ll leave you alone, let you get to your mother’s.”

He released her and placed his hands on the arm seats, preparing to rise. She gripped his bicep to hold him still. “Don’t,” she whispered.

He frowned at her. “Don’t what?”

“Don’t go. I do…feel the way you do…I mean, I think I do. How do you feel?”

He studied her for several moments and then smiled. He unbuckled her seatbelt and pulled her to her feet, wrapped his arms around her, and tugged her tightly to him. With his lips against her ear, he whispered, “Like this Christmas sham was the best idea I ever had.”

-THE END-

Thank you so much...I hope you've enjoyed our holiday stories so far. There are lots of wonderful stories to come. Merry Christmas!

Christmas Sham by Alicia Dean - Chapter Three

(For previous chapters, scroll to the bottom of the page and click 'Older Posts')

Chapter Three

Jack shook his head. “I don’t need some archaic tradition to tell me when to kiss my girl.”

            Nina bit back the disappointment that shafted through her chest. She’d actually wanted him to kiss her…was all giddy about his calling her his girl. What was wrong with her?

“Really?” Mark scoffed. “What do you need, because I haven’t seen you two kiss—at least not a real kiss—since you arrived.”

Jack’s muscles tensed beneath Nina’s hand. “Just because you and Suzette are all over one another like monkeys, doesn’t mean we have to be. Now, if you’ll excuse us.” Jack danced her away from the other couple.

“That was a close one.” Nina’s attempt at keeping her tone casual failed. “You almost had to kiss me.”

He smiled down at her, his gaze roaming slowly over her face and stopping on her lips. “Yeah, wouldn’t that be a shame.”

“Yeah,” she repeated. She tried to slow her racing heart. He might be playing a game, but it was becoming all too real to her. “You never told me what Suzette said to you earlier. When you came in, you looked ready to explode.”

He ground out a dry laugh. “She made me an offer.”

Nina looked into his face. “Offer?”

“She said there was no reason marriage to my brother should prevent us from…continuing where we left off. She explained that she was only with him because I refused to marry her. Of course, I emphatically declined.”

Nina let out a low whistle. “That woman is a piece of work. Are you going to tell your brother?”

Jack shook his head. “I doubt he’d accept my version. Deep down, he knows how Suzette is, but he’s planning to marry her anyway. He’ll figure it out when he’s ready.” His eyes searched hers. “Listen, I’ve had all the wedding festivities I can take for one evening, want to get out of here?”

She lifted her brows. “And go where?”

“You’ll see.” He took her hand, a gesture she was afraid she was coming to like way too much, and led her out to the garage and to a black Lamborghini.

“Is this yours?”

“It’s Dad’s, but I use it when I’m visiting.”

“Nice ride.” Her fingertips skimmed along the hood of the sleek car.

In less than fifteen minutes, they pulled into a mall parking lot that held several vehicles, but not as many as she would expect on Christmas Eve, with last minute shoppers. “The mall is open tonight?”

“Not the shops. Come on. I want to show you something.”

They went inside, past darkened stores with their door-gates pulled down.

When they reached the center of the mall, she looked up and gasped.

Snowflakes fell from the ceiling—fake ones, but they looked so real. Next to a huge tree was a mechanical Santa with a child on his lap and presents and elves at his feet. People milled about, and children rode on a Christmas train that wound through the magical scene.

“This is amazing.” Memories flooded back of snow-filled Christmases of her childhood.

“Well, you wanted snow on Christmas.” He sounded pleased with himself.

“How did you know?”

He cocked an eyebrow. “Seriously? Did you not hear yourself grumbling about it during the entire trip?”

She chuckled. “I wasn’t exactly a good sport, was I?”

His expression turned serious. “I don’t blame you. I shouldn’t have expected you to abandon your family at Christmas.”

Her brows drew together in puzzlement. “Why did you? Why me? Out of all the women in the company?” She’d asked him the same question when he’d presented her with the offer. He hadn’t given her an answer. She wanted one now.

He shrugged. “You’re single, attractive. A suitable choice.”

“Oh.” She couldn’t keep the disappointment out of her voice.

Silence stretched between them, then his shoulders dropped. “No, you deserve the truth.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and studied her with narrowed eyes. “I’ve been attracted to you for months. I really did need someone to accompany me so my family wouldn’t think I was reeling from Suzette’s betrayal, but I didn’t want to bring anyone other than you. If you’d said no, I would have come alone.”

She blinked at him in shock. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t drag air into her lungs if someone offered her a million dollars. “Oh,” she said again, this time in barely a whisper.

He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, cupped her face in his hands and tilted his head forward. Her eyes drifted closed, the room spun, and a buzzing sounded in her ears…

Damn. The buzzing was her cell. Her mother said she’d phone tonight. Nina couldn’t ignore the call. “Excuse me,” she choked out.

She reluctantly stepped away from Jack and pulled her cell from her purse. “Hi, Mom, how are you?”

A snuffle came over the line. “I’m sad, honey. I can’t believe you won’t be here Christmas morning.”

Nina’s heart ached. She shot a glance at Jack and moved away a few more steps. “I’m so sorry, Momma. I hate that I can’t make it.” She sniffed back tears. “But we get to spend a whole week together, right? I know how much my being there tonight means to you, but try to think about the fun we’ll have afterward. You’ll get through Christmas morning just fine.”

Her mother choked out a sob. “I will, sweetheart. I’ll be fine. Miss you. See you soon.”

“Miss you too.” Nina’s throat clogged with sadness of her own.  “Love you.”

Nina swallowed a lump in her throat as she replaced the phone in her purse. She turned to head back to Jack, and found him standing directly behind her, arms crossed over his chest.

 “What’s going on?”

“Nothing. That was my mother.”

“Why does it mean so much for you to be there on Christmas morning?”

Nina shrugged. She had no intention of baring her soul to Jack the Jerk. It was a good thing her mother’s call had interrupted their little moment. He was the reason her mother would wake up alone on Christmas morning, for the first time in her life since she’d married Nina’s father.

“It doesn’t matter.” She released a heavy sigh. “Can we just go back now? This was nice of you, but your family will probably be wondering where we’ve gone.”

She started to walk away, but Jack gripped her arm, halting her progress. “We’re not going anywhere until you tell me why I see pain in your lovely brown eyes. You’re not exactly a pro at hiding your emotions.”

Lovely brown eyes… Damn him and his charming ways. Ignoring the thrill his compliment gave her, she compressed her lips, debated whether withholding the information was worth the fight, and decided it wasn’t. With a weary exhalation, she sank onto a garland-draped bench. Jack settled beside her.

Without looking at him, attempting to keep her voice steady, she opened her heart. “My father and brother were killed on Christmas Eve in a car accident when I was seven. Afterward, Mom and I only had each other.” She took a deep shuddering breath and wiped her eyes. “Waking up on Christmas morning in the same house was important…special. When I moved away, she said Christmas was going to be the most difficult time of the year, not having me there when she wakes up.” Tears made her voice hoarse, and she cleared her throat. “I promised her  no matter how far away I might go, I would always be back to stay with her on Christmas Eve.”

“Why didn’t you tell me this before?” Jack spoke so softly, she barely heard him

“Like I’m going to tell my boss my mommy wants me home on Christmas morning?” She grunted a laugh. “It wouldn’t have made a difference anyway.”

He clenched his jaw. “You’re right. It wouldn’t have. I was so self-absorbed about my problems, I wouldn’t have cared about yours. Then.”

She lifted her eyes to his. “Then?”

“Yeah, but now things are different. I’ve been an ass, and you should be with your mom on Christmas.”

She thumbed tears from her eyes. “It’s too late.”

“No, it’s not.” He stood. “Come on. I’ll send you on my plane. You’ll be there tonight and can still wake up at home on Christmas morning.”

****

Check back tomorrow for Chapter Four, the final chapter of Christmas Sham...