I’m interrupted. This happens all the time. Say I get a phone call. Well, duh, don’t answer it. But I still have to check to make sure it’s not my mom, my son, my fiancée, my stepdaughter’s school, Publisher’s Clearinghouse or the FBI (yes, that’s happened, but that’s a different story). That small blip is sometimes enough to make me lose my train of thought and getting that sucker back on track is harder than a penis in an orgy. Okay, maybe not THAT hard.
But back to work I go, diligently pounding out *ahem* the next scene in the book. My heroes have the heroine tied up and are just about to tantalize her when…
Ding Dong! Stupid doorbell. But I’m insanely curious. Maybe instead of calling or emailing, Publisher’s Clearinghouse is waiting on my doorstep with that giant check and a camera. Which would suck because I have on no makeup, I’m in my pjs AND I’m not wearing a bra. I tiptoe to the door and peek out the peephole. Sigh. It’s someone selling something. No thanks.
I return to my office, sit back down and think “Where the hell was I? Ah, yes, tied up…” It’s on now. They’ve got her deliciously wet and at the edge of orgasm. The teasing is almost more than she can take but she continues to beg for more. “Give it to me,” she demands. This earns her a quick smack on the bottom and a reprimand to mind her manners and her masters. She is petulantly apologetic, which of course earns her another…
Buzz! Buzz! Crap, is that the washer? Those clothes can stay in there. I turn up the music, channeling Christine and Raoul on the rooftop of L’Opera Paris until I remember the LAST time I thought those clothes could stay in there. I had to toss an entire bottle of Downy Unstoppables into that load to get the musty, mildew smell out. Fine. OMG…Dash to the laundry, transfer clothes, add the dryer sheet, bam, done.
Back at the desk, check the clock. It’s already two. How in the hell did that happen?! I re-read a few paragraphs up and catch a typo so I fix that then I start trying to pick up the thread. Suddenly, my heroine’s demands seem a little childish and predictable as does the swat she receives on her butt. I delete that entire scene and grit my teeth to keep from crying. I back up and try to come at it from another angle.
Skype rings. This time it is my mom, so I answer. We chat for a little bit then I tell her I have to finish this scene and hang up. By now, I’ve had some time to ruminate over the action and have decided that the problem is my heroine is a little too free, even tied up because they didn’t really do a bang-up job on that. I want something a lot more restraining but what? To the InterWebs!!! I open a search window and quickly pull up a few sites that have the pertinent information I need for my scene. I try desperately not to get sucked into the awesome world of research but I usually fail. By the time I look back up from hemp rope, tips and techniques and photos by Midori, I’ve lost another hour and a half. Now it’s four. I have one hour before the family walks in the door and demands all of my time.
I buckle down. I shut off the internet, crank up the music, set my timer and kick some serious story ass. By the time five o’clock rolls around, I’ve managed to save my writing day and have accumulated anywhere between three and four thousand words. I’m relieved. My stress level eases off and I know I can relax and enjoy my evening. I’m also berating myself for not doing this all damn day. Maybe I could have broken that ten thousand word mark!
Time to make dinner, eat, then canoodle on the couch and watch TV, talk about day, catch up and chill out before shower and bed.
As I go to sleep, I’ll think about what I’m going to do the next day. Maybe I won’t even turn on Skype. I definitely won’t put on any laundry. I’ll quit pining for Publisher’s Clearinghouse and I will insert