A Day In The Life Of…Kate Perkins-Armond

On March 31, 2014, I don’t get out of bed until afternoon. Part of this, of course, is that I’m an insomniac who regularly stays up until 4 a.m., but lately it’s been more than that. My glasses are broken. Which means every minute spent out of bed — and not forever walking into things thanks to legal blindness — is spent wearing custom-made contact lenses that are technically very unhealthy to wear beyond 12 hours. And I always go beyond twelve hours.

But I’m trying to be good today, so I lie in bed and try to think about work-related things. Specifically, I try to think about the one project for which I’m currently being paid. The other six writing and editing jobs currently on my freelance plate are all for – or with – my dear friend Jeff. He and I work on a complicated IOU system.

Thing is, the job that’s being paid in a bizarre thing called money comes with it the request to greatly expand the book’s love scenes, and I am far from in a romantic mood. I am frustrated by the job in general; I got through the previous night’s editing work by, on Jeff’s advice, imagining a meteor hitting the city as soon as the story is finished, removing it from my overstressed life. Today, however, I lie in bed and try to think romantic thoughts. Even if some of them are from different stories, old play-test works of mine that I am willing to steal from outright.

I get up and put in my contact lenses. I check the usual news, immediately feel my anxiety starting to flare up, and play a game of 2048 instead (addictive little flash things). Then it’s time to check on various social media things I’m running for Jeff’s Dawn of Steam series. Of the three people involved in this little self-publishing project (there’s another co-contributor, Jeff’s friend Sarah), I am possibly the best at marketing, and I am appalled by that fact. Jeff doesn’t have my anxiety disorder getting in the way, but all the Facebook/tumblr/Twitter stuff is really rough for him. Don’t even talk to him about code for the web site. Well, I can, but he’ll just say mine is wonderful without having the slightest idea what I’m doing.

When that’s done, I get some orange juice, then open the file for the book I’m being paid to proofread and expand. I put in commas and quotation marks, make tenses consistent, and yes, write two love scenes. There’s admittedly a lot of moving around in my chair to try to get the distance just right for my eyes, the strain being a little harder on me lately since I have to keep my contacts in longer.

At some point, my husband and I notice each other to be home and awake, respectively. We’d somehow missed that. I ask if there’s any news on where his work will be taking us next year. There isn’t. I consider muttering something about ‘gypsy academic lifestyle,’ but somewhere in my mind, a half-Roma amateur anthropologist called Julietta Penn rolls her eyes at me. Now that I’m done with the paid work, I’ll be able to get back to reading the third volume of Dawn of Steam, in which she is one of ‘my babies,’ the characters of whom I’m most fond and to whose characterization I pay extra close attention. I’ve written whole pages of Julietta myself, when it was agreed she needed more and the others didn’t have the time.

Eventually, when peanut butter crackers and occasional swigs of orange juice just aren’t enough, I get out the chicken I’ve had soaking in buttermilk in the fridge overnight, season it, flour it, and fry it up for lunch for me and my husband. Drinking it with more orange juice  will help absorb the iron better, so it’s said.

I open up the file for Dawn of Steam: House of the Rising Sun.  Yes, Jeff is a huge fan of the folk-blues song made famous by The Animals. Since the third volume of Dawn of Steam is set part in Japan and part in New Orleans, he apparently couldn’t resist.  Jeff wrote this entire three-volume epistolary Steampunk story in a single month – a November, to be precise. Most National Novel Writing Month writers are happy if they make the official goal of 50,000 words, but he had to write 300,000 in his first NaNoWriMo.  By the time he wrote House of the Rising Sun, he pretty much hadn’t slept in three weeks. In the initial draft, it shows.  It really does show.  That’s part of why it’s taken me so long to get through it. Massive restructuring will be required, moreso than the first two volumes, one of which is published and one of which is in third-draft edits.

As I read, I e-mail myself a running tally of notes to be addressed later when Jeff and I are less stressed.  Since I have been stressed, the notes are a bit snarky in places.  I point out an anachronism with simply a reference to the sentence and an ‘oh, honey, nooo.’ Simultaneously, I am exchanging e-mails with Jeff. A little of it is clarifying questions, but mostly just friend stuff.  Then he e-mails back a question mark.  I realize I sent the ‘oh, honey, nooo’ note to him instead of myself. I apologize and explain the anachronism. It’s no problem in his opinion, but it still annoys me that I was so careless.

Then I have to get up, walk around the apartment to expend nervous energy, and check the mail. The newsletter for my church has arrived. There it is on page 6, “Book Reading, April 22.” There are already little fliers on the church bulletin board saying “My Book Is Out (the primary authors helped)!” I still haven’t decided for certain which passage to read. The beginning is unfortunately the slowest part, but everything else has spoilers. Additionally, I get anxious about reading certain passages to a roomful of progressive-minded Unitarian Universalists without making it seem like the 1815 characters’ patriarchal nonsense is being validated. The irony is that also I worry if certain of my Catholic relatives back home will read far enough and carefully enough into the series to notice the biracial lesbians. My inner pedant immediately corrects me.  One of them is not a lesbian; she’s bisexual.

I return to the third volume. Eventually, I finish it.  Even though the ending needs some restructuring, it makes me cry. For once, it’s not tears of editing frustration – because I get those too – just normal sentimental tear-jerking on my part.

I fry up some more chicken for a late supper, because there was more chicken left, and not much else. After supper, I sit down and talk to Jeff online about the book. He’s sorry/not sorry about making me cry. We discuss various improvements and additions. As I look at the clock, I start to get anxious.  It’s almost midnight in my time zone, almost April, and I let the boy talk me into Camp NaNoWriMo. We have multiple novels, in the series and otherwise, to market or edit, and several short stories in progress for anthologies, and I haven’t done my taxes, but he talked me into doing a special mini-National-Novel-Writing-Month to focus on my own work. I’ve tried NaNoWriMo three times, and never gotten above 2,000 words. I freeze up on non-collaborative projects. Somehow, though, he talked me into it.  When midnight hits, I start to type in a new file and have to steel myself against going back and re-editing every sentence eight times.  I hit my goal of 333 words for the first night in 45 minutes and surprise myself. I’ll edit it all later.

Soon, it’s approaching midnight in Jeff’s time zone. He’s going to be working on Dawn of Steam 4. Never mind that I’d carefully registered all sorts of things for ‘the Dawn of Steam trilogy,’ the boy had to start us on a Book 4. Sure, sure, it’ll be the beginning of a new trilogy, set a few years later. Still, he doesn’t seem to get it when I therefore call it Breakfast-Time of Steam 1.

We’re getting into the time of night where Jeff normally gives me some stress-and-anxiety-managing tips for the night and the coming day, before I get ready for bed. However, he’s gone into Prolific Writer Mode, and while he’ll stop if I ask, I don’t want to interrupt. Instead, I start searching for indie publishing resources again. I run across an idea that would, in fact, involve writing over 1,000 words all by myself. It’ll be nonfiction, though, so I take a breath and give it a try. I even make myself keep the editing minimal before I send it off, take out my contact lenses, and go to bed.

 

Copyright © Dawn of Steam Trilogy 2014

Copyright © Dawn of Steam Trilogy 2014

 

Another fascinating day in the life of a creative! To find out more about Kate Perkins-Armond and her projects, click below to be taken to the good stuff! 😉

Website: www.dawnofsteam.net

Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00IOC6HNU

Facebook: www.facebook.com/dawnofsteamtrilogy

Tumblr: dawnofsteam.tumblr.com

A Day In The Life Of…Hedonist Six!

Happy Wednesday, folks! Today will be Writing Tip Wednesday, but first we have a fabulous ‘A Day In The Life Of…’ post from the fabulous Hedonist Six! Enjoy! 🙂

 

A DAY IN THE LIFE OF…HEDONIST SIX!

 

WAKE UP! WAKE UP! WAKE UUUUUUUUUPPPPPPP!

And so I do, almost. Clumsily feeling around the bed, underneath my pillow, accidentally elbowing the hubby while trying to locate my phone to turn off the infernal Crazy Frog Alarm still ringing in my ears. There are probably less annoying ringtones I could use to get me out of bed in the morning. None of the others are quite so effective in discouraging me from simply giving it five more minutes though.

 

It doesn’t take me long to get ready, because if it did, I’d miss out on even more glorious sleep. This might be weird for a writer, but I absolutely do not suffer from insomnia. Quite the opposite actually, I often find myself nodding off on the sofa in the evening. Getting the time for an afternoon nap at the weekends is my idea of heaven.

 

But it’s not weekend yet, and I’d better get moving. Phone, keys, obligatory return into the bedroom to kiss sleepy husband’s cheek and give him a little cuddle. He doesn’t let go of my arm and I’m stuck for a moment. I’m late, you idiot.

 

By the time I pull out of the drive and turn the radio on loud, I’m pretty much awake. I’m in the driving zone which lasts roughly an hour, after that I’ll be useless without my first dose of caffeine for the day. The new Arctic Monkeys song comes on, god I love it. I’m ready for today.

 

“Morning!” I say while dumping my stuff behind my desk and switching my PC on.

 

I’m two minutes early and yet the last one to reach. Tea is already in progress, needing rescue from overbrewing. Some people just don’t get tea, despite drinking it every damn day.

 

Back at my desk, steaming mug in hand, it’s time to catch up. While my emails load, I take a quick peek at Facebook, only to quickly minimise the browser window and shiftily look around towards the engineer who can see my screen from his desk. Did he see the naked guy in my newsfeed? Whew, he must’ve missed it or I’d most definitely get a remark about it by now.

 

My To-Do list is longer than I’m willing to acknowledge and still doesn’t quite cover it all. By 11, I’m alerted to a problem with an urgent shipment, courtesy of one of the huge international couriers, which takes up hours of the rest of my day. Meanwhile, the same engineer who has front row seats to my PC  gets up and stands beside me. Without giving it much of a second thought, I automatically extend my hand over the chocolate bar on my desk. He always goes for the food first.

 

This quick reaction seems to frustrate him, so he takes my phone away instead. I expect to retrieve that later with the screen unlock feature enabled, meaning I won’t be able to use it until he fixes it again. Still, I suppose it’s a step up from being restrained in my chair with packaging tape, because that has happened before.

 

“Can’t we send him away somewhere?” I ask.

 

The boss lady looks up momentarily from her laptop. “I’m working on it.”

 

Being an only child, I imagine this is the closest I’ll get to finding out what it’s like to have an irritating brother, even if he might like to think of our relationship in a slightly different light. (Guys, incessantly teasing a girl you like is not a viable flirting technique and will get you friend-zoned at best! Even if she’s not already married.)

 

Surprisingly he gives up on his phone snatching plan and instead starts to argue it’s my turn to make tea, leaves his cup on my desk and goes for a cigarette break. Oh well, I could use a moment away from being on hold with a call centre that can’t help me anyway.

 

Lunchtime provides a reasonable moment of peace to catch up with some friends online, and stare blankly at the WIP that has been bothering me for weeks now. I decide to procrastinate by reading a few blogs that will in no way help me finish my book.

 

At 2, the afternoon staff meeting requires our entire workforce to congregate in the meeting room; of a very crowded *cough* seven, two are away on business. Topics up for discussion are the fucking recession, various project updates and a few innuendos thrown in for good measure.

 

By 4 pm, the missing shipment has been located and I’m drained. My To-Do list is even longer than when I started this morning, but at least one matter has been resolved.

 

A few of us meet by the kettle to discuss upcoming weekend plans. The other (non-annoying) engineer is going camping. This amuses us greatly, considering his questionable choices for camping locations in the past; once in North London and another time next to Gatwick Airport. We never actually got to the bottom of how those crackpot plans came into being, but that might just diminish their entertainment value anyway.

 

The day has been long, but while the work is boring as usual, at least I can consider myself lucky to be surrounded by up to seven (usually fewer) people I don’t detest. I suppose it’s not surprising my longest story so far has been about an office romance. Don’t a lot of us spend an unnatural amount of time in environments such as these, if perhaps more stressful versions filled with politics and intrigue?

 

Out of nowhere an idea for my WIP starts to develop, allowing me sit down and bang out a few words until 5:45pm, while excitedly sharing this latest epiphany with a writer friend in chat. The boss probably wonders why I regularly stay a little late, sometimes smiling at my monitor, often peering into it with intense focus and forgetting the world around me. She doesn’t ask about it though, as if she knows it’s a necessity which cannot easily be explained.

 

When it’s finally time to go home, I put the stereo on, singing along loudly and out of tune as I leave the rows of terraced houses, shops and heavy traffic behind, getting ever closer to home.

 

“Hey, how was your day?” I ask, met by a shrug and unintelligible noise. Same old then, as was mine.

 

I decide to sit down for a bit, head resting against his shoulder, watching the rest of The Simpsons. I’ve no idea what to cook yet, but it’ll probably come to me when I head into the kitchen. Or not, in which case there’s always a plan b; take-out.

 

Tonight I have neither the will nor the opportunity write anymore though. Evenings are for us to spend as a couple and to unwind before following the exact same routine the next day.

 

Regular like clockwork, my eyelids start to feel weighted around 11, but I force myself to stay up for another half hour. It’s almost the weekend, and I can’t wait. There are a couple of muses in my head now, and their story deserves attention beyond what a fulltime job allows most of the week. Come Saturday though, I’m hopeful to get a few hours alone in the morning which will serve me just right.

 

 

H5

Call me “H.” or Hedonist if you prefer. I’m a Romance and Erotica author based in London and I’ve always been a dreamer. You’ll not find flowery language and poetry in my work. What you will find though is believable characters, none of whom perfect, going through life and trying to find happiness. Just like the rest of us.

Recurring themes you’ll find in my work:
Contrast; big / small (BHM/FFA), rich / poor, older / younger, experienced / not so much. Especially the first in the list; I like big men, as I know a lot of women do but may feel awkward admitting it. We’re not doing ourselves and the men we’re attracted to any favours by keeping quiet though!
Confident, self-assured women who aren’t afraid to follow their hearts.
Sorry, but I just don’t get BDSM, so I won’t be writing about it. I’m sure you’ll be able to find plenty of other authors happy to cater to your tastes.
Emotional conflict, insecurities and awkwardness; it excites me to throw my characters into uncomfortable situations and watch them come out stronger at the end of it!

Find more of Hedonist and her books here!

AND her amazing books themselves!

A Day In The Life Of…Theodore Webb

Morning, folks! (very early morning if you’re in the UK like me!) Today we’ve got Theodore Webb over with us for our ‘A Day In The Life Of…’ post, sharing a little about his day and some writing tips! Enjoy! 🙂

 

A DAY IN THE LIFE OF…THEODORE WEBB

 

A day in the life of a writer equals a day in the life of a hard life. You can do almost anything else and make more money (that being said, it’s not about the money). Writers like me, particularly us “indie writers,” often cannot devote 100 percent of our time to writing.

As much as I would like to focus completely on writing, marketing and everything else required of an “indie writer,” I must continually find ways to pay my bills, which means picking up part-time jobs and so forth.

For me, there isn’t a “typical writing day.” I write whenever I can make it happen.

Being a writer also means being a reader, so you have to squeeze in your reading time too. I usually wake up around 8 a.m. I make a bowl of oatmeal, a pot of coffee, read current events, news, blogs and a book.

Then, when I’m fully awake, I work on a short story, a poem, a novel, a play, revising a piece, formatting a work to publish digitally, working on a cover, blogging on my website, http://www.theodorewebb.com, engaging on my social media, http://www.facebook.com/theodorewebbauthor or my Twitter, Theodore Webb @STARLINGCONNECT.

I have a few rules and suggestions which help me stay on track and complete projects. Here are five tips about the daily writing life, which I hope will also help you with your own writing:

 

1. Join a writing group or groups. I’m a member of the Morgantown Writers Group (MWG) that meets at the public library as well as the M.T. Pockets Theatre Company Playwrights Group. I’m also a founding member of Morgantown Poets. Between these three groups, I’m often at writers’ meetings several times a month on weekday evenings. These groups keep me busy, inspired and engaged. No one can truly do everything alone. It’s good to be social. If I get overly involved with my own writing or reading, I have a tendency to go too long without seeing people. I’m fortunate to live in a small town with a thriving and supportive writing community. My friends and fellow artists continually inspire me. They tell me what in my writing needs more work. They also help keep me from getting too much inside my own head.

 

2. Write something new for each group meeting. This is my personal rule for my participation in the groups with which I’m involved. Before every meeting, I must have new writing to share. For example, with the M.T. Pockets Playwrights Group, I must write a new scene before every meeting. With Morgantown Poets, I try to have at least three new poems to share at every event. Many writers give themselves deadlines. This is my way of holding to a deadline. It ensures that I’m always writing new work.

 

3. Promote your work. Writers wear many hats. “Shameless self-promotion,” as a friend of mine used to say, is one of those hats. Think about it. You labor for months or years on your novel. And the writing is good. But what good is it if no one knows about it? If you don’t promote your work, then people won’t be able to discover it. I’m continually amazed by how many authors labor to write books, but then do little to promote their books. For those authors who actively promote their books, the competition is stiffer than ever before. Have you looked on Twitter lately? If you’re following authors on social media, as I do, then you’ll notice every other Tweet amounts to “Buy my book!” I don’t think these particular kinds of Tweets are very effective, but I give props to those authors for elbowing their way in there and promoting the heck out of their work. They’re light years ahead of the author who does nothing to promote his book. You have to figure out a strategy for promoting your work. You may find that a fourth of your time or more is devoted to promoting your work while another fourth is engaging with readers and other writers.

 

4. Chaos is overrated. Organize. Saving time takes time. Schedule about 15 minutes each day to get better organized. Creativity may flourish in chaos for some folks, but it’s frustrating no matter who you are if you’re wasting an hour scrambling through that stack of papers looking for that short story you sketched out a month ago. That said, don’t be a perfectionist. Done is better than perfect. If you’re spending more time trying to organize everything, washing dishes, cleaning, mowing grass or any chore besides writing or promoting your writing, then, as a writer, you’re probably wasting even more time. I’m not saying to neglect your responsibilities, but you need to make sure other members of the family are pulling their weight too. Everyone should be respectful of your time and writing career. The whole family needs to work together for each member to be successful.

 

5. Don’t forget to exercise daily. You may ask, “How exactly does exercise connect with the writing lifestyle?” I often find I’m spending far too much time sitting behind the screen. We all need a break. As the old saying goes, “All work and no play make Jack a dull boy.” I’m not necessarily talking about strenuous activity. In my 20s, I ran 10-milers. While running many miles can be aerobic, it can also put quite a bit of stress on your bones and joints, particularly if you run on pavement. Today I’m happy simply riding my bicycle a few miles on the rail trail. These bike rides relax me and bring peace to my mind. I often get new ideas or solve a problem with a character or plotline when I’m not thinking about writing. I recommend you find an outdoor activity that is enjoyable to you. It could be walking, swimming, jogging, a short hike in the woods, fishing; simply anything that you find fun. Ideally the activity should involve mild to moderate exercise to get your body and your creative juices moving.

 

Hope this post has shared some insights into a day in my writing life and also given you a few tips that you may find helpful in your own career in the arts. If you’ve found this post helpful, by all means, share this post with your friends and associates. For more writing tips, essays and more, bookmark my website, http://www.theodorewebb.com.

 

Theodore Webb

Theodore Webb is the author of “The STARLING Connection,” a novel-series about a near-future drone-filled Dystopia in which a group of teenage “hackers” fight for their privacy and freedom to speak. Webb is the author of several short stories, including “Desperate Engine” and “Family Hour.” His electronic books and stories are available on Amazon.com and Smashwords.com. Webb regularly blogs at http://www.theodorewebb.com. “Like” his Facebook author page, http://www.facebook.com/theodorewebbauthor and follow him on Twitter at Theodore Webb @ STARLINGCONNECT.

A Day In The Life Of…Vickie McKeehan!

Good morning, lovely blog-seekers! 🙂 Have we got a treat for you today! The awesome Vickie McKeehan tells us about her wild day as an author, so enjoy!

This post was originally posted up over at http://vickiemckeehan.wordpress.com, re-posted here with permission of the author.

 

A DAY IN THE LIFE OF AN INDIE ROMANCE WRITER …

 

hot-guy

 

After a night spent with hunky Raphael, the alarm goes off at an astonishingly early six a.m. Even though I have no desire to climb out from underneath warm covers and leave Raphael, I must get up to keep my body in shape. Ah, yes, the dreaded workout and exercise. A few laps in my indoor pool should do the trick.

Half asleep, I stumble to the sliding glass door. I force it open with all my strength because my night with Raphael has zapped most of my energy. I step out onto my adjoining deck to dip my toes into the heated water of the shimmering pool only to discover my toes have landed in Beau’s water dish. Beau is my loyal little, bug-eyed pug. But when I finally come to my senses, when I finally come out of my dream-like state enough to realize I don’t have an indoor pool, Beau gives me one of his looks that clearly says, “Crazy woman. I knew I should’ve gone to live with the dog whisperer, Cesar Millan, when I had the chance.”

I decide coffee is what I need to wake up and plenty of it. After I wander into my gourmet kitchen, a voice from the walk-in pantry calls to me. “What can I fix the most talented, the most awesome writer in the business this morning for breakfast? Your wish is my command.”

As I drift over to the coffee pot, I tell my personal chef, “You know what I like. An egg white omelet with an avocado on the side and a toasted muffin with a tall glass of orange juice.”

Suddenly the male voice replies, “Okay, it’s either whole-grain Cheerios or instant oatmeal with a toasted waffle. What’s it gonna be?”

I sigh. Another bubble bites the dust and it isn’t even six-thirty yet.

Over my bowl of gruel, which grows cold while I pour my own cup of coffee, we go over the day’s schedule. I mention I should probably set up a meeting with my marketing department, my publicist, and my agent. I remind my personal secretary that my agent is brokering a deal to sell the rights forPromise Cove to Disney for several million dollars.

He nods back but counters, “We do have that trip planned to the grocery store for later because the cupboard’s getting bare. Plus, we’re out of toilet paper. As for the meeting with your department heads, I did get a confirmation that Del Taco is continuing Taco Tuesday so we’ll set up lunch there. How’s that sound?”

“I do like tacos,” I muttered into my cereal. “But just once, couldn’t we splurge and go to that cute little restaurant over the water for shrimp and lobster?”

He shakes his head. “That’ll blow the budget for this month.”

I sigh again. Time to head back into my fantasy world. The voices in Pelican Pointe are calling to me.

 

 

Find the amazing author and her books here! – 

Facebook – https://www.facebook.com/VickieMcKeehan?fref=ts

Twitter – https://twitter.com/VickieMcKeehan

Blog – http://vickiemckeehan.wordpress.com

Amazon Page – http://www.amazon.com/Vickie-McKeehan/e/B006JSYSH8/ref=sr_tc_2_0?qid=1374833762&sr=8-2-ent

Insanely Drawn Tour Stop – A Day In The Life Of…Dani Morgan!

Pageflex Persona [document: PRS0000447_00008]

Welcome, lovely people! Today we’ve got an uber-special ‘A Day In The Life Of…’ post – because it comes from the awesome Dani Morgan on her book tour of Insanely Drawn! Read further down after Dani herself takes a seat, and see why you really, really should grab a copy of the amazing debut novel.

Insanely Drawn

A Day in The Life Of… Dani Morgan

It’s nine o’clock in the morning and my eyes pop open.  Eureka! I know how to fix the scene that has been plaguing me for over a week.  My dreams have revealed the perfect solution. I think I hear the heavens opening up and the choir singing… oh crap.  It’s just my eleven year old and he’s awake. That means no writing for me yet. Maybe if I sneak out of bed and am very quiet, he won’t hear the computer turning on. Okay, I’m successfully tip toed out of bed, so far so good. I’m almost there, I can feel it. Crack!

“OOOOOCH,” I scream out. Not only have I alerted my person pain in the… sorry, my totally independent, non-clingy baby boy that I am awake, but I’ve broken my baby toe on the bleeping bookcase. Lovely. By the way, what good are these tiniest of toes? Mine have done nothing for me but repeatedly find corner of walls, doorframes, and hard edges and then snap in the other direction.

So my child runs in to check on me, wants to see if I’m alright, and then proceeds to ask me what’s for breakfast. Welcome to my world.

After an hour of arguing over the merits of pop tarts over bacon, eggs, hash browns and toast for breakfast, I relent and make my son a hot meal. Is he even related to me?

Twenty minutes later, I sit down at my computer and open up the email.  Three orders of my daytime job are waiting on me.  Check the due date real fast, crap due tomorrow.  I have to go out in the field and do drive-bys today.  I still giggle when I say that.  No, I’m not a gangster but an appraiser. I throw on some clothes, spend another hour begging my son to brush his teeth and use deodorant, and I’m out the door.  I plug the addresses into the gps and it’s only then that I notice the locations.  I’m going to be out in the field all day.

Six-thirty and I pull into my driveway.  I’ve successfully accomplished my goals and only had to take three breaks for food and to pee because of my toddler, er I mean my almost teen-ager. Work behind me, and a boy now occupied with his video game (thank you sony play station), I finally sit down in front of the computer, open up Word and the right doc.  I’m now staring at the page and trying desperately to remember what on earth I was going to write when I work up. Nothing. I’m as blank as the page on the screen.

Music… oh music will inspire me. I pull up the playlist and blare it.  I never noticed how catchy that song was and now I’m dancing around the room, doing my best air guitar.  Okay, okay. It’s now eight o’clock and music is not helping.  Maybe I need a distraction and the idea will just pop in my head. I open up G-chat and Facebook.  It won’t hurt to open up Candy Crush.

Damn, it’s now two hours later and I can’t remember a thing.  I shut down Facebook, shut down G-chat, and now Word is my only distraction.  I spend the next hour pounding away, writing whatever pops into my head and I am impressed that I have managed to squeak out 1,500 words. That is, until I read them.  Delete, delete, delete.

Frustrated, I turn off my computer, go check on my son (who is snoring with a controller in his hand), turn everything else off, lock the doors, and go to bed.  I repeat the same line over and over in my head as I fall asleep. No, not “After all, tomorrow is another day”.  That’s not me at all.  “All work and no play, makes Jack a dull boy”, now that’s how I roll.

Trailer

Blurb

Your first job out of college. It’s supposed to be a stepping stone or a transitional job, not the single defining decision that will alter the course of your entire life.  Sienna Kennedy never signed on for the craziness, danger and even love that her new job thrust into her world.

But she didn’t run either.

Assigned to a maximum security floor of Western State Hospital for the mentally ill, the last thing she expected to encounter was a reminder of her past.

Cade Collins’ animal magnetism draws her into an unseen world filled with creatures from her wildest imagination. Discovering his story, as well as the very institution in which she works, becomes her obsession. Her every waking moment is consumed with unearthing a way to free the man that has stolen her heart, body and mind.

The secrets Sienna finds will free them of their bonds…or lead them to their doom.  Fate flung the two destined souls together, but how can any love survive in such a demented place, filled with peril and danger?

More about the lovely author…

Dani Morgan 2

I was always the girl who spent most of her life living in her head, even at an early age. My made up worlds were so much more interesting than real life. In them, anything was possible. I could be a reckless archaeologist digging up a mummy who came to life, terrorize a medieval village by drinking all their blood, start an intergalactic war between rival planets, or ride a wild stallion with a hunky Native brave clad only in a breech cloth, all within the course of a weekend.

Life didn’t stay simple. I had to grow up, get a job, became a wife and mother and put all my dreams on hold. After a change in my life, I found myself a single mom who had plenty of time to fall back into the land of make believe.

One night I opened up my computer and soon several novels were penned. Now I have embarked on a journey to become the person I always envisioned myself to be, an author, sharing my crazy ideas with the world.

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A Day In The Life Of…Trish Marie Dawson!

This is the first in our special series of posts, all entitled ‘A Day In The Life Of’. We’ll follow different authors as they go about a normal–for a writer!–day. So let’s welcome Trish Marie Dawson as she fights applesauce and the FBI, just to get to her current WIP. 

*Yawn* It’s Saturday morning and do I get to sleep in? Of course not. Because like every weekend, the four year old decides to wake up with the sun and sneak into the living room, where I’ll find him standing on the counter and digging through the cupboards for treats. I roll over and poke the man snoring beside me, but he only groans in protest and rolls over. Dad’s not getting up.

If I squeeze my eyes shut for a few more seconds, I can almost pretend like I’m asleep – until the cat jumps onto my face to say good morning. At this point it’s useless to deny my full bladder a reprieve, so to the bathroom I go. The cat follows, as he does every morning, as if he doesn’t know what I could possibly be doing in there.

The first screams and hollers of the day come from the other room, after the nine year old has denied the four year old access to his favorite morning cartoon. Or perhaps she has sat on his face in an attempt to keep him from sticking his tongue into her third bowl of cereal. I curse as I trip across the laundry on the floor and the size 13 shoes, even though there is a perfectly good laundry basket and closet nearby, to hurry down the hall, weaving around matchbox cars and small toys that have escaped the kids’ rooms. The cat jogs next to me, dodging my slapping feet on the hardwood, coming precariously close to getting stepped on more than once.

I’m still rubbing the sleep from my eyes when the living room comes into focus, and I find the kids sitting on the couch, happily eating out of a carton of ice cream. After confiscating the contraband, the four year old throws himself on the floor screaming and kicking, and the nine year old pouts. I have to nag her to feed the animals and let the dog out to pee. Both cats scream at me for breakfast as I make my way through the room, picking up various items that were left out the day before, including two ties, someone’s bath towel, laundry that was folded and dumped onto the floor so the four year old could play in the basket, random dishes, pencils and papers and textbooks and a plastic toy plane that’s affixed to the ground by something sticky. This is when I remember we are out of paper towels.

When I do make it to the kitchen, I see that the kitchen fairy has skipped my house the night before. I grumble a string of curse words as I pull my favorite mug out of the dishwasher and discover it died during the wash cycle. I wash my mug, rather than get a clean one, because it has my Beauty and the Beast character on it and makes me happy when I sit down at the computer. And then I wash the dishes, because there’s nothing clean to stir my coffee. Explains why the kids were eating ice cream with measuring spoons.

One hour later I’m at the computer. The news is on CNN despite groans from the kids. But I don’t care because this is my time to figure out my schedule for the day. Email – check. Amazon Reports – check. Separate the fighting children – check. Facebook – check. Take the light saber away from the boy before he whacks the dog with it – check. Back on Facebook to check messages and share pictures of cute cats – check. Enroll myself in Pinterest Anonymous – check. Open up Word and decide which WIP I’m in the mood to work on – check. Settle the nine year old down at the table for the fifth time with her school books on a weekend because she didn’t want to do it the day before – check. Open up a separate window on the internet to browse for research on how to turn the safety off a gun, and hope that the FBI is not monitoring my computer surfing – check. Explain why cats don’t like being squirted with water guns or used as pillows – check. Talk shop with the M-7 Authors as they go about their days – check. Take the light saber away from the four year old – again – check. Explain that cats have nipples – check.

After a whopping ten minutes of all of that – I’m ready to settle in and do some writing while the Muse is around. At least another hour passes of me getting up and down – tending to children, animals and chores before I can write. Taking breaks to homeschool, referee and prepare meals, I nearly die twice after slipping in applesauce and a puddle of juice that was left on the kitchen floor. By the time early afternoon arrives, my Muse has become a nag and I can’t find my left flip-flop though it was JUST on my foot. During quiet time I hammer out what I can – editing will come later. Realizing I need to know how an inexperienced person would stitch up a knife wound, I Bing it and then look over my shoulder for the FBI again. In a moment that can only be considered paranoia-induced, I email a writer friend and ask that they delete my browsing history when I die.

Dinner comes and goes in a blur. Bedtime arrives even faster. Probably because I know there’s Moscato in the fridge and chocolate in the cupboard. After the kids have been tucked in and the four year old has been carried back to his room five times, I finally sit back down at the computer to do it all over again.

When the house is truly quiet, I attack the DVR like there’s no tomorrow and weep softly on the couch when I realize the chocolate was eaten yesterday. With a sigh, I pet the cat and stare blankly at the TV. Tomorrow is Sunday, which means I get to do this all over again. But I will do it gladly because I’m a Mom and I’m a Writer. It’s just what I do.

-Trish Marie Dawson

Trish Marie Dawson

Trish was born and mostly raised in San Diego, California where she lives now with her family and pets. She’s been writing short stories and poetry since high school after an obsession with Stephen King’s ‘The Stand’. After over fifteen years of crazy dreams and an overactive imagination, Trish began her first book ‘I Hope You Find Me’ in December of 2011. When Trish isn’t writing, she’s homeschooling her amazing daughter and mildly autistic son, reading whatever she can get her hands on, or enjoying the Southern California sun. As a strict Vegetarian, Trish holds a special place in her heart for animal rights and dashes into the backyard weekly to rescue lizards and mice from her mini-lab/cocker spaniel mixed dog, Zoey…who is always getting into some sort of trouble.

TRISH’S BOOKS

I Hope You Find Me (2012)
Dying to Forget (2012)
Dying to Remember (2012)
Hawke & the Beast – Once Upon A Twisted Time (2012)
LOST and FOUND (2013)
The Well Collector (2013)

COMING SOON

Dying To Return – Book 3 of The Station Series (Summer 2013)
Behind the Glass
The Last Faerie of Failynn

Please check her Author Pages for more details: http://www.facebook.com/WriterTrishMarieDawson (Facebook) her Amazon page, or follow Trish’s Blog at: http://writertrishmdawson.wordpress.com/

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