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.