Well, a question for the 5 (okay, 6) people who regularly read my blog…

any lurkers out there, chime in–I’m curious about this.

I found out today I’ve been “grammatically incorrect” my whole life. Apparently a phrase I’ve grown up saying (no, I’m not talking about “fixin’ to” which I rarely ever say anymore) is a colloquialism and that it is incorrect.

Funny thing is, I’ve never, ever, in my entire 37 years heard the “correct phrase” until today.

So, I’m curious. Which way do you say it?

I broke the vase on accident.

I broke the vase by accident.

I’m seriously curious about this. So chime in…please.

Is it just me, or does Nicole Richie look like a bobble-head here?

Listen, I get the weight loss thing. I do. I chase after that dream every day. But come on. This girl needs to eat a sandwich. With mayo. And bacon. Battered and fried. Then top it off with a couple of funnel cakes and maybe a double-whopper.

Her neck is going to break under all the stress of carrying such a big ass head.

If the camera adds 20 pounds, how does she not fall down a grate, or blow away?

Is it just me, or does Nicole Richie look like a bobble-head here?

Listen, I get the weight loss thing. I do. I chase after that dream every day. But come on. This girl needs to eat a sandwich. With mayo. And bacon. Battered and fried. Then top it off with a couple of funnel cakes and maybe a double-whopper.

Her neck is going to break under all the stress of carrying such a big ass head.

If the camera adds 20 pounds, how does she not fall down a grate, or blow away?

If at first you don’t succeed, skydiving is not for you.

Isn’t that the truth?

I’m all for “never give up, never surrender” but I know my limits. With the way I’ve felt the past few days, skydiving, bungy jumping, free-base jumping, etc. are off the market as far as I’m concerned. As a matter of fact, if I were you, I’d just stay away from me for a while. I might be contagious.

I hope I didn’t leave my cooties on this blog.

The quickest way to double your money is to fold it in half and put it back in your pocket.

Hmmm. Unless you have a hole in your pocket…which I discovered I did when I stuck a $10 bill in it the other day.

A closed mouth gathers no foot.

Which is why I’m being very, very quiet this week. God, I hope nobody can read minds…

Duct tape is like ‘The Force.’ It has a light side and a dark side, and it holds the universe together.

Wonder if taping it to me will hold me together?

Seriously, I feel like I’m in a whole ‘nother world. Or, if this was Mad TV, that would be ‘hole ‘nubba world… the HNW. This entire week, I’ve been in a fog–or as I said last night: Scattered, smothered, covered, and chunked. Today you could add diced and peppered to that list.

Maybe it’s this sinus infection I’m fighting. Maybe it’s the scene I’ve been writing and I’m not happy with. Maybe it’s the lack of sleep. Who knows? All I know is that I need to get it together, QUICK!

On the fun side of this terribly pitiful blog, we’ll have a guest in our house next week. One of the coaches from the British Soccer Camp will be residing in our home…So, I’ll have access to a hot young soccer player with a fantastic accent. Can you say, YUM? Soccer players have the best bods. Wonder if he can bend it like Beckham?

Watch out Fishdog…you may have some competition around the house….

If at first you don’t succeed, skydiving is not for you.

Isn’t that the truth?

I’m all for “never give up, never surrender” but I know my limits. With the way I’ve felt the past few days, skydiving, bungy jumping, free-base jumping, etc. are off the market as far as I’m concerned. As a matter of fact, if I were you, I’d just stay away from me for a while. I might be contagious.

I hope I didn’t leave my cooties on this blog.

The quickest way to double your money is to fold it in half and put it back in your pocket.

Hmmm. Unless you have a hole in your pocket…which I discovered I did when I stuck a $10 bill in it the other day.

A closed mouth gathers no foot.

Which is why I’m being very, very quiet this week. God, I hope nobody can read minds…

Duct tape is like ‘The Force.’ It has a light side and a dark side, and it holds the universe together.

Wonder if taping it to me will hold me together?

Seriously, I feel like I’m in a whole ‘nother world. Or, if this was Mad TV, that would be ‘hole ‘nubba world… the HNW. This entire week, I’ve been in a fog–or as I said last night: Scattered, smothered, covered, and chunked. Today you could add diced and peppered to that list.

Maybe it’s this sinus infection I’m fighting. Maybe it’s the scene I’ve been writing and I’m not happy with. Maybe it’s the lack of sleep. Who knows? All I know is that I need to get it together, QUICK!

On the fun side of this terribly pitiful blog, we’ll have a guest in our house next week. One of the coaches from the British Soccer Camp will be residing in our home…So, I’ll have access to a hot young soccer player with a fantastic accent. Can you say, YUM? Soccer players have the best bods. Wonder if he can bend it like Beckham?

Watch out Fishdog…you may have some competition around the house….

No, I haven’t been chowing down at The Awful Waffle…(though, now that I mention it, that does sound pretty good).

Egads. I can’t concentrate on anything lately. Nada.

And it sux.

So, tonight I vegged out. Played some Unreal Tournament. Hung out with Erica Kane and All My Children. Basically, I enjoyed a night of nothingness. Maybe my brain activity will return from its catatonic state soon. I hope so. I hate digging the depths of nothingness for a word, a phrase, shit–a vowel.

On another note…

Fishdog and I took my oldest to lunch today and I couldn’t stop staring at him. He’s grown 2 inches in just a few weeks and he’s starting to lose that baby look. He’s leaner, and his walk is changing to a gait. Today his eyes were a beautiful shade of gray. Almost pewter. But, they’ll change tomorrow to a blue or a green, depending on what shirt he’s wearing.

He looks just like me–which is most unfortnuate for him. Actually, I think he wears my face much better than I do. The bridge of his nose is dusted with the freckles I wanted when I was his age. Of course, I’m freckling now…on my shoulders. LOL Not nearly as charming.

Anyway, he’s growing up and it pains me as much as it thrills me. Sure the boy drives me mad. Absolutely, nut-crushing-mad…but he’s my first born (even if he’s a bit of a moron, sometimes) and he’s growing up right before my eyes. And it’s amazing.

No, I haven’t been chowing down at The Awful Waffle…(though, now that I mention it, that does sound pretty good).

Egads. I can’t concentrate on anything lately. Nada.

And it sux.

So, tonight I vegged out. Played some Unreal Tournament. Hung out with Erica Kane and All My Children. Basically, I enjoyed a night of nothingness. Maybe my brain activity will return from its catatonic state soon. I hope so. I hate digging the depths of nothingness for a word, a phrase, shit–a vowel.

On another note…

Fishdog and I took my oldest to lunch today and I couldn’t stop staring at him. He’s grown 2 inches in just a few weeks and he’s starting to lose that baby look. He’s leaner, and his walk is changing to a gait. Today his eyes were a beautiful shade of gray. Almost pewter. But, they’ll change tomorrow to a blue or a green, depending on what shirt he’s wearing.

He looks just like me–which is most unfortnuate for him. Actually, I think he wears my face much better than I do. The bridge of his nose is dusted with the freckles I wanted when I was his age. Of course, I’m freckling now…on my shoulders. LOL Not nearly as charming.

Anyway, he’s growing up and it pains me as much as it thrills me. Sure the boy drives me mad. Absolutely, nut-crushing-mad…but he’s my first born (even if he’s a bit of a moron, sometimes) and he’s growing up right before my eyes. And it’s amazing.

How else do you follow a post titled:

When the sex is bad. Well, not bad…just not right.

With the words trashy, raunchy and lewd–that’s how!

I’ve never once thought of what I write as trashy, raunchy or lewd. (even though, I myself, can be considered all of the above) Apparently, there are those out there who do…just google “Trashy Romance Novels” and see what you get.

Then yesterday, Claire Cross/Delacroix blogged about how she still has a hard time answering the question “So, what do you do?” because of the reactions she gets.

Wow.

Now, I’ve had another author tell me I’m not a real writer because of what I write about. That just cracks me up. How am I less of a writer because I write stories about people who fall in love and wind up happily ever after? It can’t be about the sex because there is sex in oodles and oodles of books. And I know for a fact that all books that contain sex are not considered trashy. And I know that those authors are considered legitimate.

Instead of the black sheep of authors, Romance writers are the frosty-blue eyeshadowed-big-haired-writer-wannabes.

So, where does this logic come from? I don’t have enough death, dismemberment, stalking, blood, cults, darkness, angst, molestation, drug addiction, or alcoholism in my books therefore I’m not a real writer? Or suicide. If you write about suicide, then you’re legitimate.

I need to write a book about a suicidal, drug-addict who was molested as a child and grew up to be afraid of the dark only to discover that darkness is where his salvation lay–when he joins a the blood cult.

No. That’s not trash. Hell, if I wrote that, it would probably be picked by Oprah’s book club.

When I think a book is trashy, it has nothing to do with the sex content or the happily ever after. It has everything to do with the writing. (Does A Million Little Pieces ring any bells?)

I don’t know how I’ll react if (or apparently WHEN) this will happen to me again.

One man’s trash is another man’s treasure. And since Romance numbers holds 51% of the fiction sales, I can honestly say, I love being trashy. I think I’ll head to Wal-Mart right now for a new shade of blue eyeshadow. *grin*

How else do you follow a post titled:

When the sex is bad. Well, not bad…just not right.

With the words trashy, raunchy and lewd–that’s how!

I’ve never once thought of what I write as trashy, raunchy or lewd. (even though, I myself, can be considered all of the above) Apparently, there are those out there who do…just google “Trashy Romance Novels” and see what you get.

Then yesterday, Claire Cross/Delacroix blogged about how she still has a hard time answering the question “So, what do you do?” because of the reactions she gets.

Wow.

Now, I’ve had another author tell me I’m not a real writer because of what I write about. That just cracks me up. How am I less of a writer because I write stories about people who fall in love and wind up happily ever after? It can’t be about the sex because there is sex in oodles and oodles of books. And I know for a fact that all books that contain sex are not considered trashy. And I know that those authors are considered legitimate.

Instead of the black sheep of authors, Romance writers are the frosty-blue eyeshadowed-big-haired-writer-wannabes.

So, where does this logic come from? I don’t have enough death, dismemberment, stalking, blood, cults, darkness, angst, molestation, drug addiction, or alcoholism in my books therefore I’m not a real writer? Or suicide. If you write about suicide, then you’re legitimate.

I need to write a book about a suicidal, drug-addict who was molested as a child and grew up to be afraid of the dark only to discover that darkness is where his salvation lay–when he joins a the blood cult.

No. That’s not trash. Hell, if I wrote that, it would probably be picked by Oprah’s book club.

When I think a book is trashy, it has nothing to do with the sex content or the happily ever after. It has everything to do with the writing. (Does A Million Little Pieces ring any bells?)

I don’t know how I’ll react if (or apparently WHEN) this will happen to me again.

One man’s trash is another man’s treasure. And since Romance numbers holds 51% of the fiction sales, I can honestly say, I love being trashy. I think I’ll head to Wal-Mart right now for a new shade of blue eyeshadow. *grin*

I tried to write this weekend, but I couldn’t.

It was strange…last weekend, I wrote a pretty damn good scene. It was the first sex scene for my current WIP and it was hot. I wrote the first part of the encounter in the hero’s POV and was planning to write the second half of the encounter in the heroine’s POV. I had planned to write it during the week and post it for my CPs, TBO&TS and Maria, by Friday.

But all week long I kept procrastinating.

Every time I thought about the scene, I’d sweat a little…(well, it is a hot scene. It’s sex, on a balcony, with a sexy british thief…what’s not hot about that?) but I couldn’t continue writing it. Now, this is unlike me because I usually love the sex scenes. (Duh) And it’s not like me because normally, when I spend a week contemplating the scene, (whether it’s sexy or not) I have no trouble writing it.

Since continuing the scene was proving to be difficult, I decided to write it over the weekend.

Hmmm. That didn’t work out so well either.

Something was wrong. Didn’t have a clue what it was, it was just something.

Well, Sister Super-Plotter came to my rescue today. Since Maria had been in Mexico for the past week, we hadn’t had a chance to talk about the scene and why I was struggling with it. Thank God she’s back. I called her today and we just talked it out and I realized that this scene belongs in the book, just not at this point in the book.

No wonder I couldn’t write any more of it!

I really have to hear myself talk about the scene. I’m an auditory person, for the most part. And so when I’m stuck, I have to have a sounding board. Sometimes, Instant Messaging works, but usually, I have to hear the discussion. My brain just works better that way.

The moment I told Maria about the issue, she asked me one question and there was my moment of clarity.

Right scene…wrong page.

Whew.

So, I’m about to start the real scene tonight. I’ll let you guys know if it works out for me or not.

All you creative types out there–what do you do when you’re stuck? What process works for you?