I don’t know about you, but whenever I return from a vacation, I need another damn vacation to recover from the first one! Maybe it’s because, being an active person who’s married to another active person and who bore two active sprouts who don’t know the meaning of “downtime,” we don’t seem to be able to understand the concept of a truly relaxing vacation. Case in point, this year and every year, when most sane individuals would be taking a relaxing holiday on some beach somewhere, or maybe a hot-tub equipped cabin, a cruise ship, or a luxury hotel, we go to War.

No, not real war. I’m more than aware that Real War is No Fun, and my heart goes out to all those who are separated from their loved ones due to armed conflict. The war we attend is a medieval recreation event known as the Pennsic War. This year was Pennsic XXXV. That’s right. Somebody has been doing this shindig for thirty-five years.

Now, any summer event with that many Roman Numerals after it ain’t no little get-together. We traveled to Western Pennsylvania with not one, not two, but twelve thousand like-minded individuals, set up camp (some of us in medieval period tents and pavilions that could pass for circus tents), put on steel armor and many-layered (read hot) period garb in the middle of August, and beat the living shit out of each other with rattan weapons in melee combat.

And we call it fun.

Hell, who wouldn’t? Pretending to be a medieval lord or lady, swanking around in long skirts (or short kilts if you’re a gent), strapping on a belt with a knife and not having anyone think twice about it, and (theoretically) adhering to the tenets of chivalry (although when that gorgeous metallic-gold trim goes on sale, all bets are off) is a manner of Playing Pretend that takes us all back to dress-up and age six. And having your SO tuck a strip of something you made into his belt and promise to fight for your honor, whether it’s a cross-stitch doodad or a piece of your hair band, and whether or not he actually defeats his opponent–there’s something just that shivery about it, even if it is pretend and you’ve been together for years already.

This year, we added to the fun by taking a short vacation from the Middle Ages to attend GenCon, which is the biggest gaming convention (I am that kind of n3rd, and damn proud of it. I play Dungeons and Dragons, and all your g33ky brothers’ friends only wish they could meet a chick like me) .

Now, I met Mr. Xandra through RPG gaming, so it always holds fond memories for me. All-night dice marathons fueled by Doritos and Cokes, Mighty Moose pizza (the only place that would deliver after three AM), and the zombified shuffle through the next day’s classes with a mind still in Superhero mode (or Elementalist Mage mode, or Cyberpunk Hacker mode) wondering what next week’s adventures would bring and if we could outsmart the GM’s evil plots to kill us off with NPCs. GenCon is where you can, if you schedule it right, just bury yourself in a four-day orgy of gaming until you’re hoarse and the corners of your dice have all worn down so far they might as well be marbles. But more than that, the energy from GenCon comes from what gaming is at its heart. It’s storytelling.

Not only storytelling, but collaborative, cooperative storytelling. A group of people, each working for a common goal of a really ripping tale of adventure, action, excitement, even tragedy. Fantastic worlds populated by characters who really are Just That Good.

So a vacation playing pretend and telling stories.  Maybe it isn’t relaxing, or isn’t exotic, or isn’t at all stress-free, but perhaps it’s the perfect vacation for a writer who loves to tell stories.

If you’re a writer, what’s your writing process like? Do you write, and pronounce it golden, having plotted out, hashed and rehashed your ideas before typing “Chapter One?” Or do you start from some arbitrary point and write whatever emerges from your subconscious, and then when the dust settles, you tear it apart, keep what works and chuck what doesn’t? Or does your writing process involve a combination of all three, and maybe a little something else.

Mine seems to change over time. Way back when I was young and foolish, I believed every word I wrote was Pure Gold. Now, of course, I realize that much of it was as cheesy as the K-Tel albums of the same name. Honestly, I couldn’t really figure out how to revise what I’d written, without serious outside help.

Many years later, of course, I now have a much better grasp on the mechanics of story–of plotting, and character arcs…and of revision. I know how to distill the essence of a scene and identify the points it makes and why it’s there…and sometimes even why it is where it is. To be fair, I did go to school for this a long time ago, but only for other authors’ work (authors who were, 90 % of the time, quite dead, and whose works had at least four hundred years to percolate through societal consciousness).

Right now, however, I’m currently caught between two processes. One is outlined by Karen Wiesner’s First Draft in 30 Days system. The system is actually a method for developing a very detailed outline in those 30 days, and counting that outline as the “draft.”  It’s very useful for people like me, who have limited formal writing time.    Having a scene outlined, knowing where it goes and why, and knowing what needs to be in it, is a theoretical savior of huge chunks of writing time and huge chunks of rewriting.  It allows you to perfect the plot progression before you write huge swathes of story that suddenly make no sense once you realize the story you want to tell isn’t the one you started out telling.
However, my second method is full of processes that are intrinsically appealing to me.  If you’ve ever been involved in NaNoWriMo - National Novel-Writing Month, or a BIAW - Book In A Week, you can understand the advantages of turning off your internal editor and just rolling with your instincts as far as they’ll take you.  For those of us who are obsessive about putting our characters in the perfect set-up, or who plot from a point that happens fairly early in the story, this “blast through until the end no matter how sucky it seems” approach helps us get past the obsessive noodling, and forces us to make the rest of the story into more than just an amorphous future blob of “To Be Written” brainmush.

I’ve just completed a novella for a Liquid Silver anthology slated for Halloween ‘06 entitled A Witch In Time.  My contribution is, of course, the futuristic portion, and came in at just over 17,000 words.  But I didn’t write 17,000 words.  It was more like 35,000.  I started the story, wrote it about halfway, and then realized that this was not the droid I was looking for.  This story wasn’t the one I was writing.

So I ripped it apart and started again.  And again.  And again.  Until finally, my critique partner, the lovely and talented and just a bit twisted Roxy Harte suggested that I do something just wacky and off the wall.  “I’d love to see some sex on a parade float,” she said.

And the current incarnation of “Hounded” was born.

So hat tip to Roxy for kicking my creativity in the head…or in her case, flogging it where it hurts.

I started out writing Hounded with the 30-days method of plotting, so I fortunately did have a plot–at least an idea of where I wanted the story to go, events-wise.  A few days with Rox faithfully flogging me to write this scene or that helped me get to the scenes I needed to write.  In essence, I took two extremes in terms of writing process,  and found a happy middle ground.

It still shocks me.

…too bad it seems to be on my head half the time. :/

So this past weekend, I attended Lori Foster’s Readers and Authors Get-Together and had a great time at this relaxed and informal event. Around 45 authors were in attendance and almost 3000 USD was raised for our local battered womens’ shelter. I got to meet and chat with readers and other authors, some of whom I met for the first time, and others who I’ve known for years through various channels. As soon as I found out I could attend, I began anticipating it, because I knew I’d be in the company of readers and writers…and I could have some adult conversation that didn’t center around my kids.

I don’t think anyone can adequately imagine the helpless horror I felt when I finally arrived at the event on Saturday…and not five minutes into my first conversation the talk turned to…my kids.

Back in the BC era (before children), I used to chuckle at my coworkers who came in with kid stories. Oh, sure, they were entertaining, because what’s not funny about flushing a peanut butter sandwich down a toilet, or finding silly putty stuffed in the toes of your dress shoes? Especially as these things weren’t currently happening to me. But I always wondered why people talked so much about their kids.

The joke is on me now…because now I know. I sort of sat back in fascinated horror and watched myself tell people kid stories all day long. Instead of discussing the trends in publishing, or the exciting life I lead as a writer of sexy love stories (shyeeah), or even the e-published versus print published perpetual debate, I’m talking about finding Legos in my underwear drawer and my constant battle to keep the sand in the sandbox on the patio versus having it tracked into my house. And on the drive home, I worry that I no longer have much in common with people who cannot recite the release date of the latest talking animals movie off the tops of their heads or have intimate knowledge of the entire cast of Spongebob. So if you’re reading this blog and I bored you with kid stories, please accept my heartfelt apologies. If you were by some miracle enchanted by my children, then bless your heart, I’m glad I’m not completely socially inept.

So. Here I am, under a tight deadline for a new anthology to which I have the privilege of contributing a Futuristic. The subject matter for me is a goldmine of ideas, and I’m suffering no shortage of them. My shortage, however, lies in words. This is supposed to be a novella, dammit. And an erotic one at that. Unfortunately for me, my mind has chosen to go hog-wild and ape-shit on building a world (or actually, several) populated with all sorts of creatures strange and wonderful. My characters whine plaintively for attention…

Now couple that with the almost constant feeling of brain-emptiness I seem to be experienceing these days and you get this mental El Nino that’s wreaking havoc with writing systems all over the landscape of my mind.  However, when the wind comes…the smart sailor rides out the storm, and if that sailor is clever enough, she can maybe ride on it.  But only if she’s got sails.  My sails are writing exercises that allow me to focus my thoughts and hitch a ride on the story waiting to be told.  I’m always on the lookout for new sailcloth, though…so…if anybody out there has favorite writing exercises to get the juices flowing, I’m all up for it.

I get asked all the time, “Why erotic romance?” by both writer and non-writer friends (I also get asked with the same frequency questions like, “What’s up with the hair?” and “When are you getting furniture in that house?” but that’s an entirely different saga). My answer, which I thought was simple, isn’t. In fact, I had to sit down and think about it.

To me, erotic romance is a tale told through sex. Characters develop and relationships grow through encounters of a sexual nature (although not solely from sexual encounters). All my erotic romance stories seem to have a theme to them of either a character’s development of his or her sexuality, or a character’s discovery of their full personality via expression of their sexuality.  If I took out the sex, there would still be a story.  It would be thin, and would probably suck to read (if not be outright boring and ignorant), but it would have the bare basics of story requirements.
Straight erotica is a different ball of well…sticky substance. :P  If I’m writing something that’s erotica, the story is the sex. The premise is sexual in nature, and the goals of the characters relate directly to sex.  The plot is directly related to the sexual encounters. If I took out the sex, there would not only be no story, but what is there wouldn’t even make much sense.
One of the enduring themes I love to tackle in writing is the idea of emerging self-awareness. What else is life, on one level, besides discovering who you are and all the many facets of your own personal Human Condition? Some of us who call ourselves writers just do it with other people. And, of course, a huge part of me is doing its part to envision an existence where people aren’t so damn hung up about sex.

…for not updating her blog on Monday like I was supposed to. In my defense, I have a good reason. Family in from out of town and a kiddie birthday can really cut into a girl’s blog h0rin’.

Alien Communion is consistently getting great reviews - thanks to everyone who’s mentioned that they enjoyed the book! I write to be read, and if I’ve swept somebody away for a few hours, it’s the greatest of compliments.

Doing a short entry today, because I’m drafting a longer one on an actual subject - my own personal definition of erotic romance.  I’m sure every ero-rom writer has either blogged or posted about this at one time or another, and I’m probably not revealing anything earth-shattering–so call it peer pressure.

This time, there’s one from Cassidy at Joyfully Reviewed.

“Alien Communion caught my imagination and fantasies tight in its alien fist from the first page on. Not only was the sex hotter than could be contained on ordinary paper, the characters drew me in and made me feel as if they were standing right next to me.”

I’m not supposed to be posting today, since it’s not Monday, and I promised myself I wouldn’t blog h0r any day but Mondays…but I was so very excited about getting my second review, I couldn’t wait to post.  Plus, it’s raining outside, and I can’t take the laptop out while the rugrats play.

I’m also being a bad girl and messing around with blog layout and tinkering under the hood of this baby…just a few tweaks.  I can quit any time.  Really.  Swear.

So they say that once you’ve been released, it’s a good idea to Google your name periodically, to find out who’s talking about you. Since Alien Communion is my first release, I know I won’t be showing up many places yet - I’m a relative n00b and quite unknown still. So I took that advice to periodically Google my name.

Periodically being every five minutes during the day, and sometimes in the middle of the night when I get up to pee.

Imagine my surprise when I found out my name had appeared somewhere! I found I’d been reviewed by Euro-Reviews, and called Mr. Xandra to tell him.

Mr. Xandra, being the pragmatic and connected soul that he is, read the review and said, “So…does this mean you’re big in Germany? Y’know, like David Hassellhoff?”

“Honey, I think they’re in the Netherlands. All their ads are in Dutch.” See, I can tell this, because it says, “Reviews in Dutch” right on the front page.

But then, Mr. Xandra is persistently distracted by my cover on a regular basis. “Think there’s more than a passing resemblance to the hero?” he asks.

“Only the horns, my love.”

But you aren’t here to read the rest of that conversation (and no, I’m not sharing! My mom reads this blog…or so she says…) - see a select bit of what Annie at Euro-Reviews has to say:

“I really enjoyed this book and yes, it will be a re-reader. I highly recommend it, and I believe it will appeal to many more readers than just those who prefer Futuristic or SciFi genres.” — Annie, Euro-Reviews

It’s not often my house attacks me. No, wait, yes it is. But we’re a civilized pair and tend to keep things indoors and use Marquess of Queensbury rules. But the other day, I had to take it outside.

(more…)

Seriously. Don’t you just love my puns?

The book’s been let loose on the world, for better or worse, and I have taken a dive into the deep end over it (those of you who know me will undoubtedly be thinking, “well hell, she was already off the deep end anyway–this is different how?”). But I mean the deep end of what we all call “promo.”

I’m consistently amazed at the idea that other people want to talk about my book. Amazed and a little nervous (a lot nervous when those other people are my mother). I’m always afraid I’ll launch off into a complete n3rdgirl tangent about theme, genre, industry, or other stuff that people who don’t live and breathe writing couldn’t care less about. I also have lived for several years by the rule, “every time you pimp a fic, a kitten dies. Someone please think of the kittens!” One of the things I dread somewhat is being labeled as one of those authors who does nothing but promo her own stuff. In other words, a kitten-killer.

So far, my policy has grown out of a suggestion from my mother in law, a very dear, very pragmatic lady who reads voraciously and who, for years, fed my monkey for romance (my mother hooked me–my own mom!–on romances back when I was about ten, but the drive to devour them didn’t hit until I met my mother in law and could actually talk to another person about romance novels). MIL says, “Just be yourself. You’re good at it.”

So I will be being myself several places over the next few weeks. Yesterday, I had a load of fun blogging the Morning After segment of Liquid Silver’s Silver EXpressions blog (aka the SEx blog, and the blog with the most eye candy per capita). I’ll be doing that again April 22.

Then on April 27, I’ll be taking my first foray into chatting over at the Pink Posse chat room with the other Liquid Silver authors. My timeslot’s scheduled to be from 9-11 AM, EDT, but I’ll be popping in and out of the room all day, as time and rugrats permit.