Writing and Life

Writing is my life. Okay, yeah so I WISH writing was my life. It's tough to find the time to do those things we love. We must make sure we find something that is ours and ours alone. Otherwise, how will we manage to still be ourselves in ten years? That push and pull between mom, employee, wife and friend doesn't leave much room for our own wants and needs. But it must. Fight for it. Take it. Play dirty if it means grabbing ten minutes to do something for yourself. So today, I'm throwin' sand and elbows. Today, writing is my life.

Love and MRIs

Yeah, yeah. I know. MRI is not exactly the word you were expecting to go with love. Recently, a extreme claustrophobic woman was tortured with three whole hours of her life inside an MRI machine. Of course, I'm the claustrophobic woman.

But what you don't know is my husband, the workaholic, took unpaid time off work. That in itself is a huge gesture for him but then he did something I will never forget. He talked about non-sense and work or whatever came to his mind so I could keep my ass in that machine.

He talked about two guys hugging at work and made me laugh when he said, "Men don't hug at work." He told me, "You got this one. It's a breeze." He asked me questions and then answered them himself. He held my hand and squeezed it, knowing exactly what I needed. What he didn't tell me? He didn't say he loved me, but then...he didn't have to.

Inner Bitch

My inner bitch tried to take over today. It was a fierce battle but I finally won out. The war? Well, it is yet to be determined.

The struggle did make me wonder why I felt like ripping off my husband's head and stuffing it down his throat. A little soul searching made me realize it had to do with the morning's events and my family's ability to cut into my writing time. I love them, don't get me wrong. I mean it! No really! And I'm not always a bitch. But today? Well today I wanted to write. I wanted to sink into my story and let the words flow from my fingertips like wine from the bottle.

Parent-teacher conferences have kept the previous night's writing jam session from becoming a reality but I kept the inner bitch at bay by reminding myself. "You can write in the morning. It's no big deal." Hence the bitch battle. *Sigh*

Life is always getting in the way but for those of us who write to publish, the daily battle to squeeze out a little writing time can be exhausting. So take your caffeine hit and give yourself a few minutes at midnight or bolt the door from the inside and ignore the screaming kids outside the door for ten minutes. Right? Okay, okay. So maybe not ignoring the screaming kids but definitely hit the video store and keep them occupied if only for a few minutes. We need to keep fighting for the time.

For me? Well, I dream of being home alone and ignoring the laundry. Where's my white knight who closes the door while saying, "Don't worry about it honey. I'll get the laundry, the dishes, the kids and the bills." His eyebrows raise. "You just make sure you thank me later."

Is this total crap or what?

My husband and I have a deal. He lies to me when I ask him questions about the size of my ass and I lie to him when he asks me how the finances are going. But when it comes to my writing I need a real opinion. I can't ask my girlfriends. They are fantastic, amazing ladies but they would tell me it's great and I would always wonder if they were just trying not to hurt my feelings. To hell with my feelings! Tell me the truth! So I asked my husband to give me an honest opinion. I know, I know. A dangerous proposition to be sure but I steamed full ahead, willing to take the chance. Interestingly enough he didn't love it or gush over it. He thought the suspense part was great but wanted me to keep the mushy parts to a minimum. Duh. Why did I think my alpha male type husband would like a romance? A critique group is your best bet for finding that tactfully honest person. The one whom you can ask your question. "Is this total crap or what?"

Is Fear Keeping You Back?

I've gained four pounds this week. What's the big deal, right? Four pounds is nothing really in the scheme of things. The big deal is, I realized that I'm eating instead of writing. An excuse not to start right this minute but wait just a little longer. I tell myself, "I'll just get a little snack first."

I had to ask myself, why is this happening? A) Because I don't want to waddle anymore than I already do and B) because I really do want to write.

"Why do you do it?" I asked myself. My answer wasn't easy to find. Honestly, I'm afraid. Afraid it will be horrible, afraid it will be good and I will not be able to re-create it. Afraid I'm not "enough".

I suppose when you dream something day in and day out you start to fall in love with the dream. You can't bear that the dream be shattered by failure. At least, I can't. But I realized something else standing there on my scale. I realized that my dream can't come true without failure. Failure is my friend. It means I'm trying to reach my goal, not just waiting for someone else to wave their magic wand. Not saying I would kick my fairy godmother for a little wand waving but in the end it's me who has to fail.

Did you know NASA only had a 39% success rate before humans reached the moon? Maybe we writers should take a page from their book.

Does this make me a nympho?

I keep having thoughts about romantic scenes between my hero and heroine in No Time For Love. Does this make me a nympho? I don't think so. I can think about alcohol but that doesn't make me an alcoholic. Right? Right. It does however become a problem when I'm in the grocery store and start laughing in aisle two about some sexual thought Lee is going to have when Mac says "So how 'bout that ride."

Hope you enjoyed my little post today :)

Anne Noble

Rainy Days and Cologne

Rainy days make me want to snuggle into my man's neck. Which then makes me think of sex. I know, I know. None of you are really shocked by this admission but I'll tell you anyway :) What really makes me think of sex is the cologne he wears. Ummm. But what makes a cologne sexy? There are as many types of colognes as there are types of men. I'm partial to Eternity myself. Clean yet deep and sexy. I bought it myself of course, Toyboy couldn't pick out cologne if his life depended on it. His choice consistently smells like old spice. Uck.

So what is it about a man's cologne that makes you hot?

Hunk Bites #1

"Ball caps? Really?"

"Yes," said the man. "I find women in ball caps extremely attractive. "

This was the conversation we had recently had at a writing retreat with one of the males attending. So why then, I ask you, do we ladies spend hours and hours over the years purchasing just the right garment or finding the right shade of lipstick when we could just as easily wear no make-up at all and throw on a ballcap?

Most men I've talked with on the subject agree that certain outfits (usually those with cleavage) have a lot to do with their level of attraction toward a woman. However, in my experience, they are just as likely to pick out something they like about every woman. I've heard them say things like "What a nice pair of gams!" or "I like her hair." But in reality the woman looked like she'd stepped out of a time machine!

So let's reverse it. What do we find attractive? Is it only looks since that seems to be what we see about ourselves most often? The best looking men in the bar often can't get a gal to save their life while the man who smiles often and gives off a certain level of confidence (not overly so however) seems more likely to get our attention.

Perhaps in the end men aren't so very different from us afterall. Perhaps it is those ladies with confidence men find attractive but they hide it with their physical comments and we assume that's really what they want. We must find confidence attractive in ourselves as well for the heroines of the day are either confident in themselves or become that way.

I recently wrote a Chapter in my work in progress in which the heroine wears fuzzy bunny slippers and a sweat shirt. Perhaps I should add a ball cap to wardrobe?

Anne