It’s May which means it’s my birthday month, though that’s not really what I want to talk about today (but feel free to send gifts b/c I love presents.) May also is the month when Brenda Novak hosts her annual on-line auction for Diabetes research. To date her auctions have raised over a million dollars. You can bid on anything from meet & greets with authors to fabulous vacations to jewelry. There’s truly something for everyone. I’ve donated to this auction for many years, but a few years ago the cause came near and dear to those I love and now it means so much more. 

When The Professor and I started dating he was finishing up his PhD and living with his best friend since 2nd grade who was also completing a PhD – my fella had moved to Austin (from their native OH) before Jeff came, but then they were roommates until Jeff got married. While the Professor and I were falling in love I got to know Jeff and his then fiancé, Rendy – they were planning their wedding and their future. He was one of those big dreamers, lots of plans for the future, wanting the best and the most of everything. He was fiercely smart and though he could be a toad at times (what man can’t?) he was crazy about the Professor and I know would have done anything for him.

He stood next to the Professor at our wedding, gave an amazing best man speech that made me cry. There we were two married couples and for a while we all lived in the same city and we’d have dinner on occasion. Then we all moved, us to Tennessee and them to Ohio. First jobs, first homes, we were on our way. We visited each other in our perspective homes, saw each other for holidays and the guys talked for hours on the phone every month or so.

Then we moved back to Texas and the week The Professor started his job here we got the call. Jeff had died. A victim of his juvenile diabetes. He was 33 and he and his wife had just celebrated their 5th wedding anniversary. The Professor was heartbroken. He gave the eulogy at Jeff’s funeral. And all of a sudden this auction that I’d donated to because I knew it was a good cause came home to the DeHart house.

So here we are in May once again and I don’t know if you’ve had Diabetes affect anyone you know and love, but it is a devestating disease that affects millions of children and their families. If you are so inclined I’d encourage you to go over and see if there’s something you would be interested in bidding on – or you can also simply make a cash donation. I’ve linked the image at the top of this post to the auction. Also, here are the two items I’ve personally donated.

*****

The winner of this auction will receive a complimentary copy, in the winner’s choice of digital file, of all of Robyn DeHart’s Entangled Scandalous titles

All the books in her current Forbidden Love series:
A LITTLE BIT WICKED
A LITTLE BIT SINFUL
A LITTLE BIT SCANDALOUS

Also included will be copies of her upcoming trilogy (releasing in 2014), THE BROTHERHOOD OF THE SWORD.

*****

One-on-One Character Mentoring from award-winning author Robyn DeHart

Popular writing instructor and award-winning author Robyn DeHart is known for creating authentic characters that readerslove. Here she’ll offer one-on-one character mentoring. Get personal assistance with creating your characters from the GMC to character arcs to how to use your characters to grow the plot of your book.

**If you’re attending RWA National Conference this summer in Atlanta, GA (July 17-20, 2013), Robyn will even throw in a short meeting for coffee to get the ball rolling.

So what’s your favorite charity to donate to, whether it be time or money? I’m giving away 3 copies of the first book in my Forbidden Love series, A Little Bit Wicked, so comment and you could win! 

I have a new book out this month and so far readers seem to really be loving it. It’s the second book in my Forbidden Love trilogy and I thought I’d share an excerpt with you today.

Clarissa had selected her attire with great care. She knew that during this particular outing she could not draw attention to herself, so she’d donned one of her black mourning dresses and a hat large enough to cover most of her face. When she’d purchased the hat, it had come with too much plumage and she’d ripped out the feathers leaving it a simple black hat with cream-colored chiffon ribbons. Even as modest as the hat was, she worried she’d stand out too much. She fretted over the hat the entire carriage ride.

Nerves beat wildly inside her stomach. This was not something she would normally do, going to visit a gaming hell, but she had no other choice. There was even an ancient proverb suggesting such a thing, requiring desperate measures during desperate times. The carriage rolled to a stop. She sat still, hands folded in her lap. Men’s voices filled the street that awaited her.

The driver opened the door to the carriage and she did her best to gather her wits. She swallowed, willing herself to be brave. This was something that had to be done, especially if she wanted to be married by the end of the Season. Considering she was rapidly approaching four and twenty, she most assuredly wanted to be married as soon as was possible. Using that very thought to bolster her courage, she stepped down from the hired hack, and straightened her pelisse.

“Wait here for me,” she told the driver. “And I shall pay you extra.”

Despite the late hour, the street bustled with activity. She tried to glance around without revealing too much of her own identity, but she would draw even more attention if she fell on the street in a heap of black wool. Two men walked up the street toward her, presumably heading directly to the establishment she too sought. Clarissa realized with alarming clarity that she knew one of the men, had just danced with him the night before at the Millerton’s ball. She stepped out of their way and looked down at her shoes. Both men stepped into the gaming hell and the door closed behind them.

For a moment she considered climbing back into the hack and going straight home. As it was, Aunt Maureen thought Clarissa had gone to bed early with a sour stomach. But she could not allow fear to prevent her from helping George. If she didn’t take care of this matter now, there was no telling how long it would take George to handle it. No, this was something that had to be done. She felt for the bag at her wrist with all of her money tucked inside. With a hearty breath, she took the steps leading to the unmarked red door.

She didn’t even have to knock, the door simply opened as she lifted her hand. Noise and smoke poured out of the door. She couldn’t see much, but spied a buxom woman sitting atop a man’s lap while he examined his cards. A large beefy man stepped into the doorway, effectively blocking her view of anything save his barrel chest.

She tilted her head to see his face, though kept one gloved hand to her hat in case she needed to quickly cover herself. His thick eyebrows rose as he took in the sight of her. “A lady don’t have business here,” he said brusquely.

“I should like—” She cleared her throat behind her black lace glove. “That is, I need to speak to Mr. Rodale, if you do not mind.”

“Mr. Rodale is otherwise engaged,” the man said, brazenly mocking her speech.

“I have it on good authority that he is here most nights.”

Three men came up behind her. “Are you lost, my lady?” one of them asked, then laughed heartily.

The man at the door moved her aside and admitted the three men before once again blocking the door.

She grabbed the bag at her wrist, hoping the reminder of why she was here would push her forward. “It is imperative that I speak with him.” She tapped her foot in hopes of appearing more courageous than she actually felt. “Now.”

The man eyed her for another minute before making a low growly noise. “Wait there.” Then he slammed the door in her face.

She moved over to the far side of the stoop to allow any other patrons to enter the establishment without her being in the way or really being seen. After what felt like a quarter of an hour a man stepped out of the building, the beefy man stood behind him. “That’s her, said she had to speak with you. It was imperative.” Again the man mocked her speech.

It was not her fault she was well bred and educated.

“I’ll handle matters from here, Clipps. You go back inside and keep an eye on things.” He turned to face Clarissa. “I am Mr. Rodale. What is so important?”

His voice was different than she remembered, deeper, darker even, but still that hint of a French accent he’d tried so hard to rid himself of when he was a boy.

“I need to speak to you,” she said dumbly. She mentally shook herself, then took a chance and glanced up at him. From this angle, the best she could do was get a look at his cravat, which was loosely tied at best. Where they stood now, with the light hanging next to the door, anyone walking by could see her. “Could we speak down here on the street, where it is more private?” She didn’t bother waiting for him to answer, merely took the steps back down to the sidewalk.

“What is this about?” he asked, his voice sharp with irritation.

She looked up at him again, this time tilting her neck far enough to see his face. She could see bits of the boy she knew in the man before her, the same amber-colored eyes and olive skin, but she had not been expecting him to be so startlingly handsome. So tall and athletic and masculine, he was beyond dashing. She sucked in her breath at the same time his brows shot up.

“Chrissy? Is that you?” He grabbed her by the elbow and pulled her more into the shadows.

She closed her eyes against the wretched childhood nickname. “Please do not call me that,” she hissed. “In fact do not say my name at all. I should not be here, but I needed to speak to you immediately.”

He grinned. “Miss me after all these years?”

“I do not.” Though, admittedly, that smile of his did make her wonder what he’d been doing the last several years. She shook her head. Now was not the time to reminisce. “I came to discuss a certain debt with you. Can I be assured of your discretion?”

“Clarissa, you are affecting the discretion of my establishment by being here. This is no place for a woman of your breeding to be seen.” He glanced around them to ensure they were still alone. “What the devil are you doing here? You could have sent a post.”

“I would like to pay the debts of Mr. George Wilbanks.”

His warm caramel eyes narrowed. “What?”

“You heard me.” She indicated the purse hanging from her wrist. “I brought the funds, now if you could please tell me precisely how much he owes, I will gladly pay the sum.”

“Have you completely lost your senses?” Justin’s jaw clenched.

How had she not noticed his handsomeness when she was a girl? He’d simply been her brother’s friend and one whom she hadn’t even deemed appropriate for Marcus to have.

Justin Rodale was a bastard, by birth, if not behavior. He’d been wretchedly surly and nothing more than a troublemaker. Not at all the sort of friend the son of an earl should have. It hadn’t mattered to Clarissa that Justin had gone to all the same schools as Marcus. And he had teased her mercilessly and insisted on calling her that wretched name. Chrissy.

“First of all, I do not have a running summary in my mind of how much each patron owes me,” he said. “I have far too many patrons for that. Secondly, I am not at liberty to discuss a man’s debts with a woman who is not either his mother or his wife, and even then I probably would still refuse to disclose information.” He paused a moment and eyed her. “Who is this man to you, Chrissy?”

“A friend,” she said carefully. There was no need to tell Justin any more than he needed to know. “The fact of the matter is, is that George is far too proud a man to accept a loan from me so I thought to pay off his debts myself.”

A crowd of men poured out from the establishment and onto the streets. They spoke loudly, cursing and laughing. Clarissa looked down to her boots until they had all passed. One stopped just shy of her and she held her breath, afraid someone had recognized her, but the man started walking again.

“Do you know George?” she asked.

Justin nodded, drawing attention to his hair that he kept far too long. The waves at the back brushed his collar. Scandalously long. Not at all like George’s hair, which he kept well trimmed and manicured. “I know who he is,” Justin said.

“And will you allow me to pay off his debts?”

“I will not.”

She frowned, wrapped her arms over her chest. “And precisely why not?”

“Because he doesn’t owe me any money.”

*Tell me what you would do if you found out someone you loved was lying to you. Two people will win a copy of the book!

So yesterday on my Facebook page I asked for blog topic suggestions and I got so many great ones, many of which were questions, I thought I’d just tackle them here.

Tammy asked: the ups and downs of being a mother who works from home

Well, this could clearly be it’s own blog topic and I’ve tackled some of it at my other blog, Peanut Butter on the Keyboard. I can’t speak for other working moms, but I will say that when you do something creative, like writing, that sometimes tapping into that creative energy is very challenging if I’ve had a difficult day with my kiddos. There are plenty of jobs I’ve done (when I worked full-time) that I could do while tired or drained or whatever, but writing isn’t one of them. At least not on a consistent basis. So I have to find ways to recharge myself on those tough days. Writing is similar to motherhood though in one very specific way, you’re never done. You don’t get a vacation from being a mom and though I take some days off every now and again, I don’t get time off from being a writer.

Susana asked: I’d like to read about your upcoming projects or ideas you’re mulling over or thoughts on books you’re reading.

Great question! I’ve got a lot of irons in the fire right now. My next release, A Little Bit Sinful, comes out very soon and it’s the sequel to A Little Bit Wicked. I’m working on the final book in that series right now, A Little Bit Scandalous. Those are the books in my Forbidden Love series that features three couples each with their own foray into forbidden love. It’s been a lot of fun to write because they’re books that focus more on the developing relationship than my longer historicals that have lots of meaty subplots. Then in June I have The Secrets of Mia Danvers coming out, that launches my Dangerous Liaisons series which centers around the hunt of Jack the Ripper.

Cynthia asked: I’d like to know how you overcome writing blocks. When the words just won’t come no matter what….

That happens sometimes, doesn’t it, Cynthia? Well, first I’m not a big believe it “writer’s block” though I do know that on occasion the words stall out for some reason or another. My best advice is to write anyways. That’s for the most common blocks, the I-don’t-really-want-to-write-today blahs. Then you have the stalled on a scene blocks, so sometimes I’ll try to brainstorm out the problem and if that doesn’t work, I’ll just skip that scene until later. Now when you have a real block, one that’s generally rooted in emotional stuff, that’s a little different.

True story – two years ago, The Professor and I took in two girls from the foster-care system. We were intent on adopting them, but initially they weren’t free and clear. To say things were stressful is a colossal understatement. Toss in the fact that we’d never been parents before and suddenly we had a toddler and an infant, we were emotional strung out. Like I said above, when our emotions are under assault, it’s very hard to find the words. All I can tell you is to write as much as you can. Sometimes all you can do is write about the weather or your feelings or whatever, but eventually the words will come back and you’ll be able to get back to it.

Angela asked: Your favorite/least favorite part of writing a book.

The easy answer is, I love the book when it’s done and about to come out. I hate the book while I’m writing it. But it is often a little more complex than that. Sometimes there are some really magical moments when writing the rough drafts, most of the time though the real magic (at least for me) happens during the subsequent drafts. I like to write the parts that come out great, the parts where I know I’ve nailed the characters and the dialogue is snappy and even I’m entertained.

(Joey asked about a blog of my favorite heroes and heroines, but I have a guest blog coming about that sometime soon…)

Nicole asked: Maybe write how you cope with your stress when you are stuck on a chapter and loose sleep! What do you do to relax!

I touched on some of this in Cynthia’s question, but relaxing, yes, that’s so important. I’m trying to exercise more to relieve my stress, walking and that definitely helps. Being with The Professor chills me out pretty good, he has a way of recharging my battery (and I don’t mean that in the dirty sense. ) Another good thing for me to do if I’m stuck on a chapter is I brainstorm with my writer buds. Shana and Margo and Emily know more about my crazy than they probably would like too and I’m a very needy writer.

Rhianna asked: Hand-in-hand with Joey’s idea… I love to see which characters an author wishes she’d been the creator of.

Oh wow, this could be a HUGE list. Um, can I just start with all of the characters in the Harry Potter books? Pretty much all of Suzanne Enoch’s heroes. Katniss Everdeen. Yeah, I could go on with this forever.

Cherrie asked: how to get over the fear of putting your work out to a editor/publisher etc…… as in…I got my book wrote, critiqued by my writer groups, read by friends that know the subject…so Im ready to let it go…now what?

Fake it, ’till you make it. That’s really the best policy here. I’ll be really honest, writing (as in the career) is scary as hell all the time for a variety of reasons. The fear never goes away. So really you just have to learn to either cope with it, or ignore it. Sometimes it’s best to ask for help if you can’t do it yourself. I know that before Emily sold her first book, I threatened to mail her manuscript off to a certain agent if she didn’t do it. That might not work for everyone, but we’ve always had that kind of relationship. So maybe your friend needs someone to sit with her while she sends it off. Sometimes talking through the very worst thing that can happen (in this case a rejection) can help. Rejection stings, but it doesn’t kill you and just know that all your favorite authors have gotten a slew of rejections too. It’s just part of the gig.

Melissa asked: Where you get some of your ideas for your stories, When you are stuck or at a standstill what you do to get out of it. When writing your stories do they change as you are writing? Or do they go as you want them to at the beginning? Have you ever used real life situations in your stories?…those are a few off the top of my head.

My ideas come from everywhere. Sometimes I start with nothing and just brainstorm the whole thing (usually talking that out with another writer), other times I’ll start with a character and build from that. I love to bounce ideas off of other writers, it’s the best way for me to brainstorm. For whatever reason I don’t do well brainstorming alone, I need that interaction. But if I’m stuck alone I have some tricks, I do the list of twenty (make a list of 20 ideas for that particular problem and don’t stop to analyze, write everything down), I have a box of index cards with character types (think stereotypes like wallflower heroine) and plot hooks (secret baby) and complications (dead body!) and I’ll pick some at random and see what I come up with. It’s kind of a fun exercise.

I so appreciate all the questions/suggestions because sometimes (especially when I’m on deadline) I just can’t think of anything. So to all the rest of you, if you could ask a question of one of your favorite authors, what would it be?

I sat down this morning to write this blog and I found I had nothing really to say. It’s not because I’ve run out of words, or God forbid, opinions, it’s simply that I’m so preoccupied with other stuff it’s hard to articulate anything else. I’m in the middle of a ridiculously tight deadline and know I have another tight one waiting as soon as this one is done. So there might be a light at the end of the tunnel but frankly I’m just wandering around in the dark.

When I first started writing seriously, I knew I needed to work to deadlines – I needed to practice. I’d heard lots of published authors say that and so I made self-imposed deadlines and I forced myself to work to a schedule. It was challenging, but nothing ever happened to me if I didn’t make those deadlines. I almost always did, but there were no consequences if I did not. And I’m here to tell you that while I don’t think self-imposed deadlines are futile, but they certainly did not prepare me for real, in the flesh, turn-it-in-or-else deadlines. Frankly, I’m not sure anything can. And it has only gotten worse since I became a mom because now I don’t have the luxury of writing all-day.

This business can be wonderful and rewarding and a myriad of many other wonderful things, but it is also extremely stressful. I was put on blood pressure medicine while on my first deadline, I’ve had full-blown panic attacks, cried more tears than I can count and been dangerously close to rocking myself in a corner. So if writing is this harrowing, why in the world would we ever want to do it?

The easy answer, because we can’t NOT write. I would imagine at some point in our careers, each Quill has thrown up the arms and said, “I quit!” I know I have. Twice (well, maybe three times.) I quit because I just couldn’t take it anymore. Each time I’ve quit, it’s lasted about a day. I won’t go so far as to say, it’s who I am, because I believe I’m much more than just my career. But writing is a huge part of me, it’s something I’ve always done, and it is something I’ll always do. I simply can’t walk away. (I tried sorta after we got the girls, but I just couldn’t quit…)

Despite the heavy stress, I love this job. Even in the midst of my deadline-induced delirium, as I sat at my love-seat, earbuds in, writing frantically while my girls buzzed played around me – it hit me: I am a writer. Even after all these years and so many books, sometimes that revelation hits and I marvel a little at it. It still gives my heart a little flip (and the good kind, not the bad kind – although it has done that too). I love this job. I don’t love everything about it. In fact there are aspects that I down right hate. I spend more time loathing the books I’m working on than I ever do feeling proud of my accomplishments. Still I love this job. I’ve always said that a bad writing day is better than a perfect day at any other job.

I get books with my name on them (and the covers are so pretty!) I get to create worlds where wrongs get right and average geeky girls win hunky men who can’t keep their hands off them. I get to meet readers who’ve read my books and loved them. I get to use words like plucky and rippling and gooseflesh. I get to write books full of trials and growth and strengths and weaknesses and passion and happy endings and all the other things that make life so worthwhile. And today in the midst of this tight deadline while I’m loathing this particular book, I wanted to celebrate that.

We’re all readers here at the Jaunty Quills and I thought it might be fun to geek out today and chat about some books we’ve read recently. So answer the following questions and let’s chat. I’ll pick two commenters to win a copy of my novella, Her Gentleman Thief.

What’s the best book you’ve read recently? For me, it would have to be our own JQ, Kristan Higgins, Catch of the Day. It was just delightful with a heroine I could relate to (in so many ways) and a hero I wanted to spend a lot of alone time with….

What’s your favorite book series? Is it stupid for me to comment that this is a hard question? Don’t answer that. I can’t not mention Harry Potter or the Hunger Games, but I’m going to disqualify those and make myself pick a romance series, I’d have to say it’s a toss up between JD Robb’s In Death series and Suzanne Enoch’s Lessons in Love.

What does a book have to have to make it on your keeper shelf? I have to not only love the book and the story, but both characters. There have been plenty of books I’ve read where I’ve really loved either the hero or the heroine but not both, but to be a keeper, it’s got to be 100% love fest.

What’s the saddest book you’ve read? I don’t generally pick sad books because I don’t like to deal with much angst when it comes to my reading material, I remember I read a book (many years ago) called The Marriage Bed by Stephanie Mittman and I sobbed through the whole book.

Who is your go-to author when you need to fall into a book and you know they won’t fail to satisfy you with a great story? Suzanne Enoch or JD Robb

So how about you? Let’s talk books and you might win a free one for yourself!

So the other night The Professor and I were in bed (get your heads out of the gutter, this isn’t *that* kind of blog) and he says to me, “we need a hobby.” Now before we had kids we went to movies. A lot. It was pretty much out entire courtship. Lots and lots of movies, which was great because it gave us stuff to talk about while we were getting to know each other and well, we learned about each other too based on the movies we saw, liked, didn’t like. Flash forward to now, post children and well, we might get to the theatre every other month, if that. And well, since we don’t get a lot of conversation time with just the two of us, then sitting quietly while watching a movie takes up what could be valuable chatting time.

So back to our conversation. I suggest Scrabble. We used to play a lot. We enjoy it and we’re good opponents for one another. And it works for him because his favorite writer is CS Lewis and we heard once that Lewis and his wife used to play Scrabble together – of course they played where any language was game. The Professor and I only play in English though we aspire. But we haven’t played in a while.

So we discuss other options…gardening? No, I’m not really into digging in the dirt, it just doesn’t work for me. There are worms. Eww! Cooking together? I’d love to have him help more, but he’s not really that skilled in the kitchen and frankly right now I’ve got a pretty sweet deal – I cook, he cleans the kitchen. So that really takes that off the table. We could make model cars. No, I’m not thinking either one of us would be good at that.

Then on a silly whim I say, “well, we could always become amateur sleuths.” He rolls over with a big smile, “that’s it!”

We watch a little TV, I toss out a few more suggestions: we love museums but we don’t really live near very many, a poker group but we don’t have many friends who live close enough, and the list went on. He finally said, “nothings as good as the sleuthing idea…”

So there you have it, The Professor and I are not amateur sleuths. So far we don’t have any cases, but I’m sure any day now they’ll start rolling in. Hey, we’re clever people.

Okay so what kinds of things do you and your spouse enjoy doing together? And keep it clean, people!

Yes, this is *another* New Year’s Resolution post…Listen it’s January, what do you expect? One of the things I’ve been struggling with (since we got our girls) is consistently cooking dinner. I don’t even really remember much of the first 6 months, it’s a blur. I was tired. Really, really tired. But hodge-podging meals or going to restaurants isn’t a great plan, not to mention it gets really expensive (resolution #2 – budget living). So I’m getting back to meal planning. I know how to do this. I did it most of the time when we first got married. If I have it planned, written down and the ingredients are already in my house, then I just cook it. Well, most of the time.

And well, cooking most nights of the week also has another benefit – we eat healthier and that’s always on everyone’s resolution list. The Professor isn’t great with left-overs so I try to make meals that are enough for one night or at least freeze well so I can pretend it’s new another night. So here’s my meal planning plan, as it were…

* I will write down the meal plan for the week!

* I will use my crock pot at least once a week, sometimes twice a week.

* We will eat breakfast one night a week (eggs, pancakes, french toast, etc.) <– easy and The Professor can make eggs!

* We will have spaghetti once a week (this is one of my family’s favorite meals, its easy and I make homemade sauce)

* I will try new recipes every month so I don’t get burned out

Alright, so here’s where you can help. I love to try new recipes (especially easy ones or crock pot ones) so leave me a recipe suggestion and I’ll pick one reader to win a copy of my latest book, A Little Bit Wicked.

*this was originally posted on my person blog, but it seemed appropriate to share it here today. Written for aspiring authors, but can certainly fit anyone struggling to make a goal a priority

One of the most challenging aspects of becoming a writer is actually writing. It seems like it should be natural. We WANT to write, but actually writing is a whole ‘nother ball of string. Making writing a priority is a must because no matter how many classes you take and how many how-to books you read you can’t learn how to write unless you plant your butt in the chair and put your fingers to keyboard. That’s the big secret, by the way, the secret handshake that new writers want from published writers – you get to be published by writing.

It’s really that simple.

But lets consider that it’s often way more fun to talk about writing than it is to actually write. So in order to get to that writing habit, we have to trick ourselves. Offer incentives, set the stage, get yourself primed and ready, bribe yourself if you have to.

How many of you didn’t set writing goals this year? And how many of you set goals, but had forgotten about them by the second week of February?

I think the problem with most goal-setting scenarios is that we’re too kind with ourselves. I mean let’s say you set a goal and then you don’t achieve it. What happens to you? Um…nothing. I mean you probably aren’t even that embarrassed because no one knows you set the goal. What would happen if you proclaimed to everyone you knew and saw on a daily basis that you were on a diet and you were going to exercise everyday and lose 50 pounds by the end of the year? I’ll tell you what, those people would be pestering you and eyeing you while you pop that donut in your mouth.

With writing, there really isn’t a lot of accountability when it comes to setting goals. We waffle a lot, we set airy-fairy goals that don’t really mean much of anything and we’re too forgiving of ourselves when we do fail to meet any goal we might have set. There are RWA members across this country who have been members for years and are still struggling to finish their first book – I know several of them. They’re bright, intelligent, gifted women, but they just haven’t been able to make that commitment.

Once you’ve written a few pages, you quickly realize that writing isn’t easy. For whatever reason we tend to expect it to be easy because we’re excited and because the idea is bursting in our imaginations. But when it comes to putting it on paper, it becomes painful and frankly not fun at all. And we do anything and everything to avoid writing. For me it was studying craft. I used that excuse for a long time…well, I can’t write yet because I haven’t mastered scene and sequel yet. Okay…well, here’s a tip from me, you can read every book written on the craft of writing, but until you actually write you’ll never master any of it.

Another reason…well, fear is a big one for a lot of us. Fear of success. Fear of failure. Fear of exposing too much of our true selves to the general public. Writers are a neurotic bunch and we’re afraid of a lot.

I could go on and list a few more and I’m sure some of you could make suggestions, but whatever your reason is, whatever excuse you have slinking through your mind that you think makes you special or excuses you, get over it. Are you ready for some tough love? How many of you want to make it in this business?

Now I’m not talking money I’m just talking about walking into your local bookstore and seeing your book on the shelf? Anybody want that? Okay, now I don’t say this to be pious because it wasn’t too long ago I sat where you are right now and I haven’t forgotten where I came from. I also didn’t get here overnight (in fact it too me seven years and five manuscripts before I sold). But I didn’t get here making excuses either. It’s time to let the excuses die. It’s time to put your big-girl panties on and quit your whining.

What are you willing to do to make this dream happen? What are you willing to sacrifice? There will be some things you can do without (TV) and stuff you aren’t willing to part with (time with your kids) and that’s all okay, just know it now. Writing is a journey of self discovery and now’s the time to get really acquainted with yourself, to find out what you are and aren’t willing to do to see your dream of publication come to fruition. So I ask you now…how badly do you want it?

But you say, writing is hard. Well guess what, it’s hard for all of us. Get on Twitter or Facebook and follow your favorite authors and you’ll eventually see them mention a struggle or two with their current manuscript. If anyone tells you writing is easy for them, they’re either lying or they’re not working hard enough. How badly do you want it?

You’re busy, you say. Well, you’re not the only person who’s tried to balance writing with a full-time day job or a house full of kids or a sick parent or whatever if is that competes for your time. How badly do you want it?

You can’t write unless you have it all plotted out/unless you have a 5-hour block of time/or unless its raining outside and approximately 56.7 degrees. Well, you need to either be writing literary fiction that affords you 5 years in between books or you need some yoga classes to teach you a little flexibility. How badly do you want it?

Okay so y’all get the picture. This is the year. No more excuses. Tack that up above your computer. I don’t care what your excuse is, if you want to write, if you want to make a go at this, you’ll get it done. You’ll make the time, you’ll learn your craft, you’ll do what it takes to succeed.

Alright now that I’ve yelled at you ☺, I’ll give you some quick tips on how to get it done. First of all you need to set big goals and then break them down into bite-sized pieces. Let’s say you want to write a brand-new single-title this year. That’s between 360-400 pages of writing, not including any prewriting or revision time. And let’s say you have a full-time job and two kids at home. So you can really only get 15-20 new pages done a week (that’s an average of 2-4 pages a day depending on if you write 5 or 7 days a week) that comes out to about 24-26 weeks to get your first draft done. Then if you revise 2-3 chapters a week you can be done revising in 6-10 weeks. That’s a total of 36 weeks on the long end of things to write a 400 page book. That leaves you with 16 weeks left over to do whatever you want with.

So you see how that works? You find your big goal and you figure out what you need to do in pieces to get there. Just like a book is made up of chapters and chapters are made of scenes and scenes are made up of paragraphs and paragraphs are made up of words, goals work just that way. Start big and work down.

Okay you have your goals, write them down and then share them with someone. Designate someone to be your goals keeper, preferably someone mean and scary who will give you that look if you lag behind.

All right so here are some tools that I’ve found particularly helpful over the years.

Find a writing zone: not everyone can have an actual home office for our own writing so you might have to get creative. If you don’t have an established desk for your work, then perhaps you can get yourself a nice new lapdesk for your laptop. Or if you have a desktop, then you can get yourself a special mouse pad and pen holder, anything that can anchor your area and remind you that it’s your writing area.

Or maybe you write away from home, during lunch at your day job or at your local Starbucks. One of the things that I do when I’m writing, that I started out of necessity from writing at coffee shops, is wearing earbuds and listening to instrumental movie soundtracks. Putting those earbuds in puts me right in the “mood” for writing, I know what I’m supposed to be doing. Even when I’m at home now writing, I still put them in my ears, even if alone where I could play the music out loud, the earbuds go in and I can hit my stride.

Make a date: If finding a writing time is challenging for you, then put it on your schedule. Just like you would a lunch date with a friend or a doctor’s appointment, put down your writing time. You’ll be far more likely to keep it if it’s already established. And your family will be more understanding too. Remember your family and friends will take your writing only as serious as you do – they’ll use your attitude as a guide.

100 words/100 days: Way back before I had sold my first book when I was struggling to make writing a daily habit, I joined an on-line challenge. The goal was to write 100 words for 100 consecutive days. I learned several things about myself but primarily I learned that I could write anywhere. Before the challenge I had firmly believed that I could *only* write when I had large chunks of time or at a certain time of day or when it was completely quiet. But none of that was true. Sure those might be prime conditions for writing, but who has that all of the time. Not me. Some days all I did was write exactly 100 words, but more often than not I wrote more. The story would take hold of me and I’d rock along and get 1000 words or 2000 words and before I knew it that book was done. The other thing I learned was that because I was writing consistently the book wrote better. I won’t say easier because I don’t think writing is ever easy. But the writing flowed more because I was in the story, in the characters and it just seemed to work. And you know what? That’s the book of mine that sold, that went on to become Courting Claudia. Author James Scott Bell has a great blog with several other tips and tricks you can use to help with this.

Setting deadlines: If you want to be a published author you might as well learn now what it’s like to work to a deadline. Set one for yourself. Figure out how many words you need to write to finish the book/story, then break it into smaller pieces. Now set a deadline for that ultimate goal and work daily to meet your smaller goals so you can achieve it. A writer should always know how quickly they can write. When you get those contracts, you pick your own deadlines so you need ot know what you’re capable of.

How do you set yourself up to succeed in something you want? 

ONE SCANDALOUS NIGHT
by Robyn DeHart

Miss Winifred Wilmington pulled her green velvet cloak tighter around her. She exhaled and a puff of air was visible in her breath so cold was it inside the carriage.

“We are going to die in here,” her maid, Polly, wailed.

Winifred rolled her eyes heavenward. “I seriously doubt that,” she said. “It is rather cold, but I suspect someone will be along soon enough and rescue us.”

“I could remind you that it was my suggestion that we leave earlier in the day. Or yesterday.” Polly grumbled. “It is the eve of Christmas, who else is traveling?”

The thought had crossed Winifred’s mind as well, but she certainly wouldn’t put voice to it. There was no need to panic, that would solve nothing. Of course therein lay one of the significant differences between herself and her long-time maid, Winifred was nothing if not practical. It was a skill she had learned out of necessity. One didn’t get jilted at the altar and not make some significant changes in one’s life. In any case, she was somewhat concerned about being stranded in this frigid carriage all night, though she was hopeful that someone would come along to save them.

Clearly she had a highly active imagination as she could swear she heard carriage wheels off in the distance. Would that it was true.

Polly sat up. “Do you hear that?”

Polly was so apt at creating drama, no doubt the woman thought she heard wolves outside. “What?” Winifred asked.

“A carriage is coming,” Polly said.

Perhaps it hadn’t been her imagination after all. Winifred listened and the wheels did sound as if they were drawing nearer. Hope bloomed in her chest. The wheels rumbled and the horse hooves clattered louder and louder until they were upon the, and they rolled to a stop.

“As long as it’s not a highwayman, I suppose we can consider ourselves rescued,” Winifred said.

A male voice spoke to their driver, then there was a rap at door.

Winifred leaned forward and opened it.

A tall gentleman stood there in a great coat with a top hat perched upon his head. He held a cane in his hand. “Madams,” he said, the timbre in his voice deep and rich.

A chill skirted over Winifred’s arms despite the fact she was encased in her cloak. “Good evening, Sir,” she said. “I should thank you for stopping to assist us. Can our carriage be repaired?”

“I do not know, nor am I inclined to look,” he said. “I will offer you a ride.”

Winifred considered his words. It wasn’t a perfect solution, but it would do. “Yes, my grandmother’s estate is not far from here. We would very much appreciate it.”

“No,” he said.

She frowned, shook her head. “I beg your pardon? What do you mean no, you just offered to give us a ride,” she said.

“A ride. To where I’m going.” He tapped his cane against his chest. “In the morning you may have the carriage take you to your destination,” he said. “But in this weather I am going nowhere else.”

“And where is it that you’re going?” Winifred asked.

“Coventry Hall,” he said.

Nerves prickled at her neck, standing the little hairs there on end. “You are?” Winifred asked.

“Alistair Devlin, Marquess of Coventry,” he said with only a shadow of a bow.

“Oh good heavens,” Polly said, finally breaking her silence. She shook her head violently. “Miss Wilmington, we mustn’t go with him.”

“Don’t be rude, Polly.”

“Yes, don’t be rude, Polly,” he repeated. “I don’t believe you’ll have any other options tonight.” His shoulders rose in a slight shrug. “Though you could certainly choose to stay here and freeze,” he said. “I have made the offer.” He turned on his heel and walked away.

“Miss Wilmington, you know what they say of him,” Polly said. “Mary who works for Lord Garrick says she knows the housekeeper that used to work at Coventry. He is a killer,” she whispered. “Murdered his own wife, tossed her right off a cliff, they say.”

“Don’t be so dramatic, Polly.” But of course Winifred had also heard those rumors and plenty more when it came to the Marquess of Coventry. He had a most interesting reputation. But the man was right, the odds of someone else coming along to rescue them were very slim. “It is a good offer,” Winifred said. “Consider this, Polly, being tossed off a cliff should result in a rather quick death whereas freezing in this carriage would be slow and painful, I suspect.”

Polly did not look convinced.

“Pipkin, I should like to get down please,” Winifred called to the driver. He was there in a breath to assist her to the ground.
The frigid air swirled around her, snow fell, soft as a whisper, covering her face and sticking to her eyelashes. She put her hands in her muff and walked toward the other carriage.

Polly raced up to meet her. “Miss Wilmington, think of your reputation.”

Winifred shook her head. “Don’t be silly. I am a spinster who was jilted; no one cares a whit about my reputation. Furthermore, my reputation certainly won’t matter if I freeze to death now will it? Are you coming?”

“I shall not ride with that man,” Polly said with a firm shake of her head.

“Suit yourself. Do try to stay warm,” Winifred said.

“If you go with him, I shall resign,” Polly warned.

“Don’t bother, I shall simply dismiss you,” Winifred said.

Polly made a growling noise, yet still followed behind. “I shall come with you to keep you safe, but I refuse to ride inside with him.”

“Do whatever you wish, Polly, I am riding inside where it promises to be nice and warm.” And with that a gloved hand reached out of the carriage. She took a deep breath and placed her hand in his and climbed into the carriage. A lantern hung from a hook on the other side of the carriage illuminating the interior. She took a seat on the plush bench across from where the marquess sat. “Thank you for your hospitality.”

“Your maid, she is going to ride outside?” he asked.

“She’s a stubborn lot,” Winifred said.

“You sacked her,” he said.

“Third time this week.” She waved her hand dismissively. “Polly and I have plenty of disagreements.”

He nodded, then picked up the book that had been sitting on the seat next to him. The carriage lurched forward.

She eyed her unlikely travel companion. He was tall and lean and formidable, but younger than she had expected. She’d heard of the Marquess of Coventry, but had never before seen him. He couldn’t be more than five and thirty. His cane leaned against the bench next to him and his gloved hand held onto the gold knob on top. She looked up at his face. An ugly scar slashed across his left cheek leading to his eye. He looked up from his reading as if he sensed her perusal. His eyes were a startling shade of green, like the first bloom of spring after a blistering winter.

“My name is Winifred Wilmington,” she said dumbly.

“I know who you are,” he said, then went back to his reading.

She frowned. How had he known who she was? Perhaps he’d merely inquired from her driver when he’d first stopped. “What are you reading?” she asked.

“Shakespeare. ‘As You Like it,’” he said.

She was quiet for a moment, trying to recall if she’d read that particular play. It seemed she must have, but at the moment she couldn’t recall a single thing about it. “You know I am not afraid of you,” she said. “I don’t think it’s very intelligent to believe everything you hear about a person.”

“Indeed,” he said, not bothering to look up from his book.

“Oh yes, people are quite hateful with the rumors they spread.” She forced herself to stop talking then as she was about to tell him about a particularly nasty rumor, but then that would be gossiping. She knew she became chatty when she was nervous and she certainly did not need to say something she would later regret.

“What is it that people say about me?” he asked, again not looking up from his book.

She eyed him for a moment, trying to gage if he was toying with her. He must know what people said. Even the servants gossiped about him.

He looked up at her and once again she was caught in those unusual green eyes. His right brow rose expectedly.

She swallowed. “That you murdered your wife.” Her voice came out weak.

“But you do not believe that,” he said.

“No, I do not.” She shook her head. “You are obviously a responsible and kind gentleman.”

“You do not know me,” he said. He set his book aside. His glove gripped the gold knob on his cane.

“No, but you stopped to assist a stranded lady, that says volumes about your character, my lord,” she said, quite pleased with her logic.

He leaned forward, his eyes narrowed. “How do you know I’m not taking you to my castle to ravish you?”

She sucked in her breath. “Are you?”

He crooked his finger at her, beckoning her forward.

She leaned toward him.

He grabbed her by the chin and pulled her closer, then caught her mouth in a kiss. So shocked by the touch, her lips parted, giving him a brazen invitation to deepen the kiss. His lips were soft and unfamiliar, yet seductive, intoxicating. Her eyes fluttered closed and her hands gripped the fabric of his great coat around his shoulders. And then the kiss was over, ending as quickly and abruptly as it had begun. He leaned back in his seat and she was left in the middle of the carriage with her eyes closed, no doubt looking very much the goose.

“You should not be so trusting,” he said.

“You never answered my question,” she shot back once she’d regained her senses.

“Which was?”

“If you were intending to ravish me once we arrived at your castle?”

His lips quirked up in a half smile. “I suppose you’ll have to wait and see.”

*This was originally posted as part of the An Historical Christmas Eve blog event on Not Another Romance Blog*

So my question to you is, do you like holiday themed books or novellas? Do you ever read them when it’s not the holiday season?

I’ve been a member of this blog for many years now, since our inception. And I’ve shared a lot with y’all. A lot from my writing career and my books itself, but also from my personal life. We’ve talked about a lot, weddings, being homesick, moving, building a house, miscarriages, new sales, lost contracts, it seems you’ve all been here with me through it all. I love that. I love that with the social communities of Facebook and Twitter and blogs, that I can directly communicate with you readers and you can do the same with me.

But how much is too much? Is there a line that you can cross?

I’m of the opinion that there is a line, but perhaps it’s different for all of us. I know that plenty of authors on Facebook or Twitter share their political beliefs. Frankly I think this is a bad idea. I’ve had to “hide” plenty of people during this political season (on both sides) because the nastiness gets to me. I don’t go to Facebook for political stuff, that’s what CNN is for. Or The Professor since that’s what he does. (can I just say how ready I am for this election to be over with?! This is like a superbowl that won’t end!)

So that’s a line for me. I don’t discuss politics on-line. But I have discussed stuff from my own personal life and perhaps other authors feel that is crossing a line.

Then there’s the writing stuff. We all gripe about our writing at some point or another. It can’t be helped. It’s part of our process, we’re inherent whiners. Some more than others. I’ve known some writers to go so far as to put up posts that detail why they can’t get the next book out for whatever reason and I’ve wondered, does that cross a line? Does it ruin it for readers to know that writing is a struggle for some of us? To know that the process isn’t magical or fun all the time? (do you think Jane Austen griped about her writing process?)

How about you? Have you had to hide or unfriend people because they’ve crossed a line? Do you think that authors can share too much of their personal lives? How about the writing stuff? Do we over-share?