Sunday, September 30, 2007

Things People You Work With Should Never Know

The people I work with know I'm a writer and most know that I write in the romance genre. The problem comes in that when you're a writer, people want to read what you write. Now, in most cases, it's okay, but when it comes down to people I work with reading my books, I get a a LOT....creeped out.

I see these people ever day. I work with them. But I DO NOT want them to know what's going on in my head! Talk about TMI (too much info). I mean just because I'm a romance writer does NOT mean I wonder about other people's sex lives and I'm sure they don't think about mine (ewwww!) so you can see where them reading a romance novel of mine might be a tad bit out of everyone's comfort zone.

People who aren't writers don't realize that a love scene in a book is about one of the most difficult things in the book to write. Their impression is that you're focusing strictly on the physical when, in reality, it's completely the opposite -- you're really focusing on the emotional which is far more difficult. This isn't Penthouse Letters!!! Wham, bam, thank you, ma'am is much easier to write. Unfortunately, it's not what romance is about. The proof is all the sweet and inspirational romance novels out on the market where the characters do nothing more than kiss.

Romance is about romance. The relationship. Two people overcoming conflict to end up HEA (happily ever after). It's about finding love and committment in a world where you have German polititions lobbying for laws to make marriage null and void after a certain number of years. Call me sappy or call me unrealistic, but I enjoy seeing love win!

So why do I still get all grossed out thinking about my co-workers reading?

Because it's just icky, that's why! And it's just another reason I need to get off my butt and get I can quit my job and not deal with it!

Ohhhhh, Muse! Get your bitch-ass over here and give me some help, will ya?

Friday, September 28, 2007

Fine! I give...I give....

Okay, it seems like everyone I know is blogging these days. I don't really see the point...can't imagine too many people wanting to read about my hectic, highly uneventful life. But hey, call me a lemming and watch me jump off the cliff.

Yes, there are days where I really do feel on the edge of insanity. I have this goal, you see. A goal of writing full time and making an actual career out of it. Doesn't seem too difficult. At least not until you throw in a I'me convinced wouldn't know how to do a darn thing to survive should I step off the curb tomorrow morning and get run over by Tony Stewart in his bright orange #20 Home Depot car...and a job from hell that sends my blood pressure through the roof and turns my brain to pudding.

I'm supposed to write through this???

Yes! At least that's what I'm told. I'm supposed to make this happen! Put my butt in the chair and write that story...conflict, plot, sex....all without falling asleep. Hey, no problem! Just let me grab those trusty clothespins of mine to hold the old eyelids open. Ouch! Splinters in the eyelids are not fun.

Oh, and let's not forget the the sixteen year old who thinks my writing is her mortal enemy. Why? Uh, hellooooooo, you're not paying attention to me, mom . I'm bored. I'm hungry. I'm bored. I need money. You're ignoring me! Any of those people telling me to "write through it" wouldn't last five minutes with her standing in front of the desk tapping on the printer to get my attention. I understand why lions eat their young.

It's difficult forcing myself to write through all this, but I do. Not nearly as much as I should or as I want to. But when I'm dragging into the house after working late yet again to find the dishwasher still hasn't been unloaded, the sink is overflowing with dirty dishes and the mountain of laundry is approaching a height that would bring tears to any thrill-seeking mountain climber, I think about that goal. Someday, I'll be sitting in that chair, in my pajamas, living in my make-believe world and actually getting paid for it. Someday, I'll be able to laugh at those teachers that told me to stop daydreaming in class and focus, or give an Italian salute to the guidance counselors that told me I was destined to become either a park ranger or a domestic servant (and no matter what my teenager believes, I do NOT fall into that second category). Someday, I will be one of those fortunate people who actually get paid for doing something they love!

I just hope I have enough tequila and margarita mix to get me through until that day comes.