Tall tales

Once upon a time there was a lady who thought, "I'm gonna write a blog about writing a book." And she did, for a little while. Until one day an evil hag came to her castle and tied her up in miles and miles and miles of rope. "Now," cackled the weathered old crone, who just happened to hate romance novels, "no more writing for you." Until one day, the fair writer was freed by...

Ok. You're not buying it are you. I bet you're sitting there reading saying, "Right Vicki. You were held hostage by a regency-repulsed retiree. If that's the best excuse you have for not writing, then I'm logging out."

You're right. No need for excuses. Cause I don't have one. The summer came. Long evenings. Long cold evenings with rain, drizzle and fog, perhaps, but still ok to sear meat to on the open grill and consume wine. And I just sort of forgot that I was writing a book. Or a blog. And that's not a good thing, is it. I mean, how the heck am I supposed to finish a novel, when I just kept forgetting to write the bloody thing. And as for the blog, well, I convientently forgot that too. And then, last night as I sat at my computer, frustrated with work because I've been working a lot lately, goofing around posting pictures of my cats and fish and mom's dog and the birds from last winter on Facebook - which I never do because I hate Facebook most days - I thought, "Why the hell am I not writing?"

So that's a good question. And there's no good answer other than, " Right. Back to it." So there you have it. I'm not making any blog promises now that I might not keep, but if I get all my work done this weekend, then maybe I'll get back to writing. After all, there's three months left to the year. And I said this was the year I was going to finish my novel. So stay tuned, friends. Because as the fall approaches, I expect so will the words.

A long weekend on the horizon...

Do we want to take bets about whether I'll manage to get a sentence, let alone a paragraph written over the Victoria Day weekend?

Let's see. Saturday morning I might get some writing done. Unless I drink too much wine while celebrating my sister's 30th birthday at a fancy downtown restaurant.

The rest of Saturday will likely be a write off. I'm heading to my parent's cabin for the night, and I have a feeling my darling 2 year old nephew will not stand for Auntie hiding away and trying to write.

Sunday. Gone again. Off to the hubby's parents cabin for a 40th wedding anniversary party.

If we can manage to get up and on the road Monday morning, then there's a slight chance that I can manage to hunker down at home and write.

Now you might wonder why I'm not taking this nice long weekend to write. Where's the dedication? Unfortunately, the May 24th weekend has never been one where relaxation is on the agenda. Between birthdays and cabin trips, and the unofficial start to a good Newfoundland summer -never mind that quite often this weekend late in May is peppered with snow-well, there are things that must be done. And writing doesn't seem to be one of them.

Happy long weekend to everyone in Canada. And happy regular oh-so-short weekend to everyone else.

Definitions

Is it a bad thing to tell your boss that on your list of priorities in life, this is the lay of the land?

1. Starting a family

2. Writing novels

3. Doing my job

I honestly don't know. But I figure there are times to fudge the truth, and times to be honest, and that moment just seemed like the right time to set it straight. That doesn't mean that when I'm at work, I'm not committed. I am. It's one of the reasons it's so hard to write in the evening. I'm too busy checking emails, thinking about my projects, reading up on how to do my job better. But when it comes down to it, my job is just my job. It doesn't define who I am.

I'm trying hard not to let the things I want define who I am either. After all, I'm not yet a mother, nor a novelist. But that doesn't keep me from trying to become both. So new rule. I'm going to try harder when I'm home in the evening to think like a novelist, and less like a marketer.

Let's see how it goes.

Know thy enemy. Know thyself.

Today I received a copy of the Romance Writers Report from the nice people at Romance Writers of America. The cover was lovely. A woman (in much better shape than I am) sat resting peacefully on a rock, water behind her, and a laptop perched on her... well, lap, of course. And there it was. The headline. "Defeating your own worst enemy-yourself."

Did everything Shirley Jump, the article's author, say apply to me? Of course not. We all have different issues. And her point-of-view was from that which I wish I was, an author able to stay home all day and procrastinate. I, on the other hand, need to fit my procrastination in to my weekends and evenings. Still, it was timely. And some of her advice seemed written just for me. Here are my favourite take-aways from her article:

• Bribe yourself: She uses candy, or a lunch with friends. I think I'll use wine. Or that lovely 12-year-old Macallan Reg gave me for Christmas.

• Find extra time: Ok. The person who can get up at 4 am to write, wow. Good for her. I don't think I can do that. But maybe I can get up by 5:30. I can try that. Or commit to two nights a week. I'm going to give it a go.

• Make a list: Oh boy. I'm the queen of making lists. You should see my desk. And my notebook. And even the Things app on my iPad. I make great lists. But I don't follow them that well. But... if I combine making the list, with the bribery, then I might be on to something.

• Stop bad behavior by doing something different: My bad behavior (I'm talking that behaviour that keeps me from writing, here, not those bad things I've done in the past!) is telling myself I need to feel inspired to write. As in my current mindset, which is, I can only write when I have lots of time and freedom and am hidden away in the woods. If that's what it takes, then I'm never going to finish this book. So what should my something different be? Thoughts?

And finally, this didn't come from the article, but from my dear husband, who never stops being supportive.

"Write something on that blog of yours everyday. Even if it's just two sentences." He's right. If I can update twitter, I can write a little post.

So there we have it. Think I can pull it off? Stay tuned tomorrow.

PS: I had no idea who Shirley Jump was, so I googled her (did you know Google doesn't want to erode their brand by turning their search engine into a verb? Silly google. It's too late for that. We all go googling.) Anyhow, turns out she has a blog, and I like it. At least the first few posts I've seen. She writes about writing, and food, and drinks. I think I'll like her blog a lot. I linked to it above. So if you click on her name, you too can read about food and drinks.

Out of the woods

Good news all. After a week in the woods, I have emerged with six chapters written.

What I need to do now is keep up the momentum I've created and not let work take over again. It's back to the grind tomorrow, and I hope that it won't end in another three month long dry spell. I think the hubby and I have created a plan though to prevent it. Every second weekend we'll try and slip away.

Yes, I said we. Because the only downfall of my week was the realization that I don't like spending nights alone in the wild anymore. Before I met my hubby I was quite the independent lady. In fact, I once went to my parent's cabin alone for almost two months! Then I fell in love, got used to having him with me wherever I went, and Voila. Eight years pass and I find myself alone in the woods, terrified at the slightest creak and shimmy. Needless to say, the remedy for this was to have Reg come up to the cabin every night. Good for me. Bad for him. I'm a very lucky woman to have a man like him in my life.

So aside from the scary nights, here's a quick rundown of how a day progressed.

I'd get up around 8, make coffee and have some grapefruit. Take a quick scroll through what I'd written the day before. If it wasn't snowing or raining I'd walk down to the pond with the camera to see if I could spot the two ducks that had holed up in the little bit of the pond that wasn't frozen.

Back at the cabin, I was working at the kitchen table. One thing I discovered was that a lack of distraction is wonderful. No TV. No internet. Just me, some music, a vase of tulips and a lovely view. I'd sit and write, whole scenes jumping out of my head, onto the page. One thing I didn't do was sit and stare at each sentence, reworking it over and over.

My goal for this trip was to get as much of the story out of my head as possible. There'll be lots of editing and tweaking to come, I assure you. But now at least I have a clearer idea of what's happening, who my main characters are, what makes the chemistry between them work, why they care for each other, what is the primary obstacle that they need to overcome. With each day came new ideas, whole chapters coming alive.

It was a heavenly week. I proved that I can make progress on this, and I have a better idea of what's happening next. I need to stay out of the over-thinking pit, at this stage at least. There'll be lots of time for that once I have a complete draft in front of me. For now, I'm just going to write whatever comes to me. It seems to be working that way.

All I need is some peace and quiet, a pretty view, and a good husband not too far away come night fall.

Preparing for a week of writing

First of all, thanks so much for all the questions and advice that you guys sent to me. I really appreciated them all. When the book is done, you'll find some answers in there. And my next post will address some of them. I promise to post at least once before I go away. Which leads to the big news: there's just one week left till I head to the woods for two weekends with the whole week in between to make a big push towards "gettin' er done", as we say at work.

My last blog post resulted in lots of great offers of places to go, and each one of them would be perfect. In the end, my in-laws cabin has won out for three good reasons: it's within an hour of home so the hubby can come visit me; it has a spectacular view of a pond and I can already envision early mornings sitting at the table by the big kitchen window that overlooks the water, drinking my coffee and getting my head together; and finally, it has heat. And a woodstove. So I can get the best of both worlds. For those of you readers not familiar with Newfoundland, which is where I live, we just had a snowstorm two days ago and everything here is covered in ice and snow. Heat is important! Also, I must confess, it's not as secluded as my parent's cabin, so I know that if I get starved for company, there's bound to be a stray aunt or uncle in law nearby. And did I mention no internet? Which is ideal. Clearly not because I'd spend more time blogging than writing, but because I can escape both curses that plague me: the curse of wanting to research more; and the curse of checking my work email, even when I'm off. I bet this week is going to seem endless as I count off the days till I get away.

I would have dearly loved to go to my Nan's cabin. Honestly, that would have been the ideal place. It's where she read all her romances, it's where I used to read in the rocking chair across from her, and it's just one of the most beautiful places in the world. But it's five hours away, I haven't been there since she passed, and I would be there all alone. My fear is that I'd spend more time missing her than accomplishing anything at all. But maybe this summer the hubby will have time to come with me and we'll go for a visit.

Stay tuned for the promised post before the week is out.

Thanks everyone!

20 Questions

Yesterday I received a tweet. For those of you not familiar with Twitter, that's what you call a little post someone makes. Anyhow, this tweet said, "I'll post something new if you will." That was my cousin Ken's way of saying, "We are bad bloggers. Get back at it, lady." Well, I think that's what it means. My cousin lives in Ottawa and I don't see much of him, but I figure that's the general gist of what he means. So here I am, blogging.

The other part of his tweet, well, that's the part I don't really want to write about. He asked, "Any progress with the writing?" Should I hold a poll to see what you all think the answer to that is? You got it. It's a big no.

"Vicki!", I bet you're wondering. "The last time you posted you were all ready to embrace the inspiration of the morning and write and write and write." And I did. I wrote about six pages, which is pretty good. But then I got on twitter, and created an account for Ches's, and tweeted for that, and then I had supper, and then I turned around and it's two or three weeks later and here I am with no blog, no new writing, and a derelict twitter feed for the family business. I suck.

To be honest, I should have inspiration to write all over the place. The hubby is supportive, the family is supportive, I even had that kick in the pants from a real romance writer. And still, I'm approaching another weekend with no idea what I can produce this weekend.

I've done all kinds of "sort of" work. I sent in my membership to the Romance Writers of America, a writer's organization for people like me. I almost booked a research trip to England, but then hubby realized he was too far behind in his work for us to go. I re-read a book about regency era fashions. I even read a couple of new romance novels including "A Lady Most Likely", which has two of my favourite authors together! But no writing. So I need your help. I gotta get my head back in the game. So I'm asking you to ask me a question, something for me to ponder about the story. Like "Is your main character allergic to grass?" or "Why is your main hunk a Duke?" You can ask it either in this blog, or on twitter, or on facebook, or to me directly. Maybe I'll blog some answers. And even better, maybe it'll get me thinking a little differently and get me past this hump I'm stuck on. I'd really appreciate the gentle prod.

Just so you know, it's not that I don't think about the story. Yesterday, for instance, I told a co-worker I was going to make a crotchety, curmudgeon character and model it after him. Sorry JMR. We made up after, and now he can be much more dashing. And I've also booked a week off work in April so I can disappear somewhere to really get some writing done. That works for me, the hiding away in the woods. So I'm going to do it again. And it would be great if I'm back in fighting form when I do it.

So please, friends. Help a struggling storyteller out. Ask me a question.

A morning fit for writing

There are some days I just don't want to write. Days when the very idea of sitting down in front of my computer and tap-tap-tapping on the key to form even one sentence is the very last thing I want to do. I've felt this way for the past week or so. It's not that I haven't been excited about the book.

Nope. My head is full of scenes, and I can describe my hero right on down to the scar on his... well. Never mind. You'll need to read to find that out. Sometimes I think I can even hear the voice of my heroine, although I'm wondering how upper-class British a woman who's been in St. John's for most of her life during the the first decades of the 1800s would sound. There'd likely be a large mix of Irish and lower-class British dialects tossed around in her world. But I suspect she had a very strict and proper governess. Her father likely wouldn't have sacrificed that. Regardless, I've been thinking about the book. I just haven't done anything to get it down on paper.

If I wanted to come up with excuses, I certainly could. But the real reason is sheer burn-out. The past few weeks at work have been exciting, lots of new projects on the go, quick deadlines, high expectations, etc. And since the majority of what I do at work is write, you can see why writing more at home hasn't really been tops on my list.

But then yesterday morning (Friday) I walked into the sun-lit kitchen. The combination of the bright sun, amplified by the snow, and the welcoming sight of a tidy dining room table, made me want to call in sick and plop myself down at the table and just write away. Of course, I didn't. I went to work. But I spent all day wishing I was at that table writing. Last night I sent myself to bed early just so I could have a chance at wanting to wake this morning. And here I am.

And you know what? The sun is just as bright. The table looks just as inviting. And I feel a scene or two coming on. What do you know. It's time to write again.

I really am a get up in the morning and write kind of writer, which is surprising since I'm a notorious non-morning person. When I was at Kilmory at the writing retreat back in October it was the same thing. I'd wake up, make coffee, and go for a walk. In the sun. In the drizzle. In the pouring rain. Didn't matter. A quick little jaunt through the woods, and I was ready to go.

The separation between the real world and the writing world also helped, and I think I might need to escape for a bit once I really get into the meat of this book. Of course, we're planning a trip to England very soon, but that's fact finding. I'll likely write (and I'll blog, of course) while there, but I think by the summer I'll be taking weekends and hiding in whatever cabin I can manage to borrow. I'm lucky between my parents, my in-laws and my aunt, there are three.

So now I'm off to grab a coffee, and a bagel, and see what happens next.

And sorry for the 11 day blog break. I won't let it go this long again.

Seven novel accomplishments on Saturday

A.K.A : I may not have written the chapter (or even a paragraph) but Saturday was still a good day for the novel

1. I now have two family trees for the main characters.
You may wonder why it's important that I know that the heroine's grandmother was born in 1741? After all, there was a lot of "if this character had that character when she was 18 then that character was born in 17XX" going on during this process. But this really helped me figure out who's who, and why they're relevant in the story.

2. I found maps of Somerset for the time period I'm writing about
Now I know where they live, and how far apart the two family homes are from each other. Sure, these homes are fictional, but they're near real places.

3. I know how long it takes to get from one house to another on horseback, and in a Phaeton.
You see, I should know how they get back and forth, and just how much of a jaunt it is. I should add it took considerable time to decide on which type of carriage best suited my character.

4. I know a great website for village inn's in England
Ok. I admit it. This has nothing directly to do with the novel. But it's essential for hubby and I for when we go to England this spring. For research. So a novel accomplishment it shall be.

5. I'm pretty sure I know enough about dying of syphilis.
When you read the book, you'll know why this matters. And no. This is not a spoiler.

6. My heroine's brother has a name, and I now like him
Again, important, since in the beginning, I wasn't sure how I was going to make him. But he's an alright fella, once you get to know him.

7. I almost have a song for a critical part of the book decided on
Yes, this sounds like I'm stretching for accomplishments just so this list could be about 7 accomplishments instead of 6, but really, I've been obsessing about this since August. Seriously. And now I think I almost have it decided. Big step.

So there you have it. I didn't write a word for the book, and yet managed to write pages of backstory, build some pretty charts, and in general, figure out some things. Because writing a novel isn't just about writing the book. There's a whole lot of thinking, and rethinking, and figuring stuff out. And that was Saturday. All in all, a decent day. This Saturday I'm getting my done, but other than that, no plans other than to soldier on.

No blog, no progress

Welcome to Exhibit A on why I need a blog to keep me on track. Then again, I clearly need a swift poke in the rump to keep me on top of the blog. Sorry all! What can I say. The week just took over.

Where to begin?

Ah, yes. Late last Friday night I somewhat deliriously, and jubilantly, wrote of my great progress. Almost two whole chapters. And then what followed? Nuthin. Here's a breakdown of my less than productive writing week.

Saturday was spent socializing, and movie going. Went to a Pampered Chef party at noon where I filled cream puffs to an explosive capacity, and then off to the hubby's aunt's b-day party where more feasting ensued. In case you don't know, writing in a mad flurry and then crashing late at night leaves one feeling something the next day akin to a hang-over, minus the icky mouth and churning stomach. Or the desire to toss out every stain of booze in your house. No, it's like a hangover in the way you keep thinking that eating everything in sight will make you feel better. "Why, yes, I think you're right. Those onion rings are just the thing to make me feel ok." Also, I felt that nagging sense of willingness to nap anywhere I might not be noticed.

Still, I'm a trooper, which is when instead of going home when we left the party, I thought going to a movie was a better idea. The early show was sold out, so we opted for the late show. After all, there's lots to do in a mall for two hours. 10 minutes after that statement we ran into my parents, convinced them to come to the movie as well, and spent the better part of two hours bored out of our skulls. A movie was really no better. "No Strings Attached", a supposed romantic comedy, but with all the sexual inuendo, I found myself whispering to hubby not too long after "Why am I sitting next to my dad?!" Still, not my most uncomfortable movie watching experience with a family member. There's a toss up between Monster's Ball with my Nan, and Basic Instinct with Dad. Bad moments in history best forgotten. If only...

So with Saturday a wash, Sunday was bound to be better. But it wasn't. We spent the day curled up on the sofa watching episode after episode of Ballykissangel. I hate spoilers, so I won't tell you what had me sobbing, but it was a bad afternoon mid-way through.

Monday, sick. Didn't go to work, didn't budge from bed unless I had to.
Tuesday, gym. Started Results 3-2-1, which is three minutes of strength, 2 minutes of cardio and 1 minute of abs on repeat until the body wants to kill me.
Wednesday, too sore to move.
Thursday, ugh. Let's not even go there.
And now, Friday. I'm writing this, and hubby is getting cleaned up so we can go hang out with friends.

But don't despair. I have a goal for tomorrow. And so far, when I make a promise here, it gets kept. It's when I avoid blogging, ergo avoid setting goals that you expect me to keep, that things go by the way side.

Tomorrow's goal. A chapter. That's right. Another full chapter. Because if I can write one in a night, imagine what I can do with an entire Saturday. Stay tuned friends. Let's see if I pull it off.

Progress!

In case you can't see the time stamp, I'm writing this at 2:06 AM in that netherworld between Friday and Saturday. Since my eyes seem to want to shut of their own accord, I thought I'd write just a quick little note in the hopes of preventing people from calling me at 8 AM to see if I'm up and writing. Because chances are, I'll still be sound asleep.

However, I'm going to bed on a good note. Since my last post I've written nearly two chapters. I'd call it two but me thinks come the morning I'll look at it and realize there's more to be said. I'm hoping to write more tomorrow, but have several places I'm committed to dropping in for a visit, so the next writing likely won't happen till sometime tomorrow evening. And in case you're wondering how many pages are a chapter and a bit, the answer is 15. So that means I've completely passed the goal for the weekend. I'll think of a new one tomorrow.

Now to go join the husband and cats, who have long gone to bed.

Oh, and the secret to writing is apparently keeping me fueled by guacamole.

G'night all.

A kick in the pants

So. Today I received perhaps the swiftest kick in the pants I could ever think to get. Let me set the stage. I'd just come back to work from having lunch with Mom, Dad and my sister. The last words Dad spoke were, "Go do some writing tonight." To which my mother replied, "She's helping plan our cruise tonight." Now, God love Dad, but he doesn't really have the clout to give me a proper kick into high gear. But someone does. I'm leading up to who.

Anyway, I head back to work ready for a nice dose of afternoon lethargy thanks to the hot turkey sandwich I had for lunch. I settle into my chair, grab the iPad and start skimming through emails. It's a nice easy way to ease back into work. But you know when you have this moment where something jumps off the page at you, leaves you gob-smacked? That's what happened when I saw Suzanne Enoch's name in my in-box. Yes. The Suzanne Enoch I mentioned in my first post who I blamed for my December procrastination since I spent more time reading her novels than working on mine. (If you're looking to read something while you settle into the long haul of waiting for something to read from me, I recommend A Lady's Guide to Improper Behavior. One of my favourites. My mother-in-law gave it to me for Christmas. Loved it!)

She read the blog, left me a lovely comment and more importantly, gave me, likely unbeknownst to her, my goal for the weekend. 5 pages a day. Which, for Saturday and Sunday, will be 10 pages for the weekend. An ambitious goal, but achievable, I think. If I can follow the advice that seems so prevalent from other authors... Get your butt in the chair.

So now that I have the goal, and am fueled by that kind comment, I'm going to set off to accomplish it. Who knows. The way I'm feeling at this moment, I just might get some writing in tonight. Or at least some thinking.

I have a feeling this is going to be the year I finally do it. And it's in no small part thanks to the support I'm getting from everyone who's reading this blog. Thanks for your time. I really appreciate it.

Oh, and if you're wondering which parent I obeyed tonight, let me say that Mom and Dad have a lovely cruise planned to the Eastern Caribbean. But it's only 9:30. I can still listen to my Dad. I know he's reading, so I'd better.

How should I measure success?

So, to add to my ever growing iPad addiction, I've found a blogging app. Since I'm writing this post at work, I thought I'd use it instead of my work computer. The danger in this approach is that I've discovered that the iPad likes to think it can read my mind and arbitrarily changes words for me. That might be why I emailed a co-worker last week and told here I was ready to talk about snakes when she was fresh. I meant sales when she was free. Anyhow...

It may be early to make this claim but to date the blog is a success. At least if my measure of success is the number of phone calls/messages I'm getting from people checking in to make sure I'm sticking to my goals. Both my aunt and sister-in-law seem determined to keep me on my toes. Thanks! I'm not complaining. If the measure of success to date is if I've accomplished what I've set out to do, then I'm currently at 50%.

Saturday, as I noted, was a bust (in more ways than one since I did go bra shopping on Saturday). But Sunday proved much more fruitful. In the long run. Because here's what happened 20 seconds after I posted yesterday morning. The borrowed dog started barking.

You can't want to go out again, I said to the dog. We just came in.
Woof.
Seriously, I have writing to do. Go lie down.
Woof woof. (followed by a spasmodic circular dance by the door)
Shush. Don't wake Reg.
WOOF WOOF WOOF

So out we went where it turned out she really did have to go out. Really. Really. Go.

Once we'd walked far enough that mom and dad's house was closer than ours,we kept going. Returning the dog turned into coffee and play with my nephew which turned into pancakes which turned into "Dad! It's nearly 11. Please drive me home!"

Now in days of old I would have let this stop me. But not now. Because I'd wasted Saturday, Sunday had to amount to something. I sent the hubby upstairs with firm instructions not to come down until I said so. He's very obliging, maybe because he's under the delusion that I'm going to make enough money so that he won't have to work again. Silly man.

Anyway, I sat there thinking about what to write. Jump into a new chapter? Work on the outline? Or just let the fingers do my thinking and see what happens. I don't often take this approach because it can be risky. I did that once on a short story that was supposed to be about the worry of a woman whose husband was lost at sea, and it turned into a story about werewolves!

But yesterday it worked. I turned on my fancy Jane Austen font (it's hard to read but helps get me in the right frame of mind) and started thinking like my male lead. Two and a half pages later I'd met my goal, figured out a critical part of the backstory and gotten a better understanding of one secondary character. Success!

Since I'm a weekend writer, there likely won't be any more goals made till later this week. Sadly, my weeks are full of work writing and my brain hurts too much to think about the novel once I get home. But stay turned for next weekend. After all, an online fortune cookie generator just told me: you are given the chance to take part in an exciting adventure.





- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Momentum: Take two

Well. You know what they say about Rome not getting built in a day. That's the summation for yesterday. Failed promise one. Didn't get up before 8. In fact, woke up at quarter to 10 when Mom called to invite me for breakfast. Still, I held off on the post because I thought, I'll keep promise two, which was to work on the book for at least two hours. Also a big no. Still, let's accentuate the positive here. It's Sunday morning, it's currently 7:55 AM, I've walked the dog (We don't have a dog, but sometimes my parent's dog comes for a sleep-over. She gets to curl up in bed with us and go for walks so she likes us better - Sorry Dad!) and am keeping this post short so I can get to work. A lengthier, update post on today's progress later.

Goal of the morning

Write at least two good pages. I could spend two hours working on this book and do nothing more than research, and trust me when I say that researching things isn't my issue - I'm a hairs-breath from a MA in History (again, finishing the thesis proved the downfall... more on that in the future)

Shoutouts

You have no idea how thrilled I was to see so many comments both here and on Facebook. Some retweets on Twitter would be sweet, and I say that only because I'm more of a twitter addict than a facebook addict. Regardless, seeing just about the whole Udle clan comment kinda hurt my heart - in a good way. Thanks. Miss you all. And to Kathy, who called yesterday to check in on my progress, thanks. :) If you call this morning you'll really find me hard at work.

With that said, I'm off to accomplish something - besides making coffee, which I also need to do ASAP. This is not a decaf morning.

Blogging: Another form of procrastination?

Tonight I told my husband two things.

1. I'm going to get up early tomorrow and work on my novel.
2. I'm going to start a blog to talk about how much work I'm getting done on the novel.

You can imagine his reaction. And yes, I suppose, in some way that I might not want to admit, blogging about the novel is a lot easier than actually writing it. But here's my logic. (Warning: I am not known for my logic.) I need to be accountable to someone. And even if no one reads this blog, the very fact that I know it's here, waiting for me to write about any form of accomplishment for the day, should propel me to get back on track.

Here's the back story. Or at least the most recent part of a backstory that spans years. My grandmother passed away last year. One year and two months ago, come Jan. 18th. We were close. And one thing we always had in common was a love of reading. Time and time again I'd say, "Nan, I'm working on a novel," and she'd say, "Will I like it," and I'd say "Probably not. It's not a romance." Because I had this idea that romance novels were not written by real writers. But then she started sliding books my way. "Try this one," she'd say. "It's funny." Or "You'll like the woman in this one. She reminds me of you." The next thing I know, I'm reading Julia London and Julia Quinn and I'm loving them. It only took 30 odd years and we were finally back on the same page. Then she got sick, and three months later, she was gone. She left all her books to me. Boxes and boxes and boxes of them, and a good 75 percent were romance novels. And about 75 percent of those were regency novels. I read my way out of grief one Duke at a time.

That takes us to August. My friend Leslie Vryenhoek emails me to tell me about the Piper's Frith, a writing retreat she's organizing with my creative writing prof Rob Finley from a few years back. "You have to apply," she tells me. Leslie is a fabulous writer who I admire immensely. I can't even think as well as she writes. My husband, who is my biggest fan, gets so excited. And I feel like I want the ground to swallow me. Because at that moment I realized that i wanted to write a regency romance.

Long story short, I didn't fill out the application. And then on the night it was due, Leslie emails me wondering why there's no application in her inbox. I explain that I'm embarrassed. I can't go to a retreat and work with award-winning writers on my romance novel. She knocks some sense into me, I write two chapters, and off I go to spend the most amazing week of my life in the wilds of Newfoundland with other writers. None of them knew what a Regency Romance was. They didn't know that a Marquess ranked above an Earl but below a Duke. And they didn't know that Regency romances typically take place between 1810-1820 (give or take some years for artistic license) during the time when the Prince of Wales ruled the nation as Prince Regent because his father, King George III had lost it and wasn't quite up for the job. Still, they seemed to enjoy it. And on the final night (which happened to be my birthday) I read for the 20 writers and lo and behold, they laughed in all the right places. And even more astonishing, when all was said and done, they peppered me with questions. They wanted to read more.

Now, any sensible writer at this point would have been fueled by success. I should have dashed home, chained myself to the computer, and been well into chapters 10 or 15 by now. But nope. Three months have passed and I haven't written a word. (I have, however, read about 20 more novels because I discovered Suzanne Enoch and Eloisa James.) So if I think about it, I managed to write the first bit because I had a deadline. And as I admitted to my co-workers this week, without a deadline, I'm nothing. My mentor at the Frith, Kevin Major, told me my problem was getting my butt in a chair and writing. Clearly, he's right. (I couldn't find a site to link to Kevin, but he has an awesome wine blog, One Brilliant Bottle, and after drinking wine with him for a week, I can testify to his palate)

So we come to this blog. Regency Rising. This is it. My promise to myself, and anyone willing to follow along, that I will get this novel written this year. I know some of my friends who may read this are thinking, "This from the girl who can't even respond to an email, even when I try and lure her to respond with promised pictures of Spanish hotties on the beach in Barcelona" (Ok. That's a pretty specific thought that applies only to one friend, but you get the point.) But I'm going to do it. And hopefully you can help me stay on track. Please.

Now, I'm off to re-examine my outline. And tomorrow morning, I will rise before 8 and write for at least 2 hours. Promise.