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?

You’ve been a father for 12 years.

Wow.

Who’d a thunk it?

Fishdog–my favorite animal–bred for its skills in fathering.

897

Pick any of these words: addle-pate, ass, blockhead, bonehead, boob, cretin, dimwit, dingbat, dolt, dope, dork, dumbbell, dumbo, dummy, dunce, dunderhead, fool, goose, halfwit, idiot, ignoramus, imbecile, lamebrain, loony, lunkhead, mental defective, muttonhead, nerd, numskull, retard, simp, simpleton, stoop, stupid, tomfool

They are all synonyms to moron and they all apply to my oldest son after last night’s escapade.

Frankly, I think he crossed the line from Moron to Dumbass…but that’s just me.

I know, some of you out there are gasping in shock. What a terrible mother. She called her twelve year old a dumbass! She doesn’t deserve her children! Lock her up and throw away the key.

Ah, quit your bitchin’. If you honestly feel that way, you’ve never been the mother to a twelve year old dumbass, er, boy.

Okay, back to my story. I had worked in the garden last night for several hours. Afterwards, I came inside, showered, made some dinner and vegged on the couch with the kids. We were watching one of my favorite old cartoons, The Tick.

My oldest, now known as Dumbass, thought it would be funny to antagonize his brother so he jumped up on the arm of the couch, intending to jump on his brother. Well, the dumbass gods were in charge last night and laughed at his attempted assault. Instead of going forward, gravity took over, and he fell back, off the arm of the couch, and landed smack on the bamboo flooring—on the top of his head.

He land with a sickening thud and let me tell you, it scared me to death.

I jumped up and pulled him off the floor. He was freaking out—you could see the shock on his face. (Oh how it sux when your plans backfire) He started screaming, “I can’t breathe, I can’t breathe!”

Me: Honey, hold your hands over your head.

DA: I can’t breathe!

Me: Baby, if you’re talking, you’re breathing. Now calm down.

That seemed to reassure him somewhat. I called a friend of ours who is an ER Nurse to make sure we knew what to look for in case of concussion. His pupils had dilated, but they were quick and reactive to light. A knot formed on top of his head the size of an egg. And his back and chest were hurting.

I woke him up twice last night to make sure he woke up quickly and could talk to me. He did.

This morning, he’s slow moving and sore.

I can’t describe how worried I was when I heard him hit the floor. The only way I can get through times like these is to laugh about them. Otherwise, I’d be a nervous wreck.

Anyway, the dumbass is okay and I’m thankful. Unfortunately, he’s only 12, so I’m sure this is just the beginning of his moronic adventures.

Pick any of these words: addle-pate, ass, blockhead, bonehead, boob, cretin, dimwit, dingbat, dolt, dope, dork, dumbbell, dumbo, dummy, dunce, dunderhead, fool, goose, halfwit, idiot, ignoramus, imbecile, lamebrain, loony, lunkhead, mental defective, muttonhead, nerd, numskull, retard, simp, simpleton, stoop, stupid, tomfool

They are all synonyms to moron and they all apply to my oldest son after last night’s escapade.

Frankly, I think he crossed the line from Moron to Dumbass…but that’s just me.

I know, some of you out there are gasping in shock. What a terrible mother. She called her twelve year old a dumbass! She doesn’t deserve her children! Lock her up and throw away the key.

Ah, quit your bitchin’. If you honestly feel that way, you’ve never been the mother to a twelve year old dumbass, er, boy.

Okay, back to my story. I had worked in the garden last night for several hours. Afterwards, I came inside, showered, made some dinner and vegged on the couch with the kids. We were watching one of my favorite old cartoons, The Tick.

My oldest, now known as Dumbass, thought it would be funny to antagonize his brother so he jumped up on the arm of the couch, intending to jump on his brother. Well, the dumbass gods were in charge last night and laughed at his attempted assault. Instead of going forward, gravity took over, and he fell back, off the arm of the couch, and landed smack on the bamboo flooring—on the top of his head.

He land with a sickening thud and let me tell you, it scared me to death.

I jumped up and pulled him off the floor. He was freaking out—you could see the shock on his face. (Oh how it sux when your plans backfire) He started screaming, “I can’t breathe, I can’t breathe!”

Me: Honey, hold your hands over your head.

DA: I can’t breathe!

Me: Baby, if you’re talking, you’re breathing. Now calm down.

That seemed to reassure him somewhat. I called a friend of ours who is an ER Nurse to make sure we knew what to look for in case of concussion. His pupils had dilated, but they were quick and reactive to light. A knot formed on top of his head the size of an egg. And his back and chest were hurting.

I woke him up twice last night to make sure he woke up quickly and could talk to me. He did.

This morning, he’s slow moving and sore.

I can’t describe how worried I was when I heard him hit the floor. The only way I can get through times like these is to laugh about them. Otherwise, I’d be a nervous wreck.

Anyway, the dumbass is okay and I’m thankful. Unfortunately, he’s only 12, so I’m sure this is just the beginning of his moronic adventures.

Do all kids think all adults are morons? Or just mine?

My kids have chores to do on a daily basis. They are staying home in the mornings and I expect them to work. Now, we’re not talking about slave labor here, just a few things they need to do everyday before they go to the pool.

Today’s list was a short one:

I. Clean rooms

a. This includes picking up the trash on your floor and depositing in a trash can.

b. Cull through your closets and dressers and put any and all clothes you cannot wear or do not wear into a trash bag. I will check to see if you threw away your NICE clothing you insist you cannot wear, so don’t bother throwing them away.

c. Put away all clothes you can still wear. This does not mean wadding them up and chucking them into your dresser. Nor does this mean putting them in your dirty clothes hamper. (I give my youngest son the stinky eye because he does this once a week, at least)

d. Clean out from underneath your bed. Do not replace items under bed with new items.

e. Do not just throw the crap in your closets and close the doors. I know that trick.

f. Do not throw the crap behind your dresser. I know that trick, too.

g. Do not collect and throw the crap into one of the hall closets or the spare bedroom. I know that trick, too.

h. The beds should be made. This does not mean the beds should be covered with all the crap from your floor that you can’t hide in the closets or behind your dressers.

II. Feed Animals

a. This means put the food in the bowl first thing in the morning—NOT just before Mom comes home to check on things

b. Feeding the animals also means making sure they have fresh water. The water is not fresh if it’s put into a mossy bowl. If the bowl is green, clean it. It takes five minutes.

Before I come home at lunch to check on them, I call twice to help “manage” them.

“How’re the chores coming?”

“We’re almost done.”

“By your standards, my standards, or your daddy’s standards?” (daddy’s standards are higher than mine.)

“Your standards, but dad will be happy.”

I get home and what do I find?

Trash on the floors

I can’t see under the bed for all the crap.

I can’t open the closet doors because they are so packed.

Clean clothes in the hamper.

A green water bowl (Full of “fresh” water, of course)

So, I left them with instructions that now their father (High Priest of cleanliness) would be home in one hour and a half to check. If the rooms weren’t cleaned to HIS standards, no pool for a week.

These are the days of our lives…

Update

They will never learn that we are not morons. I am convinced of this.

According to Mr. Clean, the rooms are still in the same state of chaos as they were this morning.

New deadline: 6pm

Added punishment if not complete on time: No pool for a week plus picking up trash at the park.

Like the sands through the hourglass…

Why is it that the grass in my front yard is a lovely shade of dead but the grass in my flowerbed is green and prospering?

It’s not because I’ve been watering my flowerbed. No. I’ve been a negligent little gardener this year. I’m getting better though. I spent three hours weeding and doing the pine straw thing last night.

Tonight, I’m going to finish the pine straw, plant some lantana, dead-head my roses (no, this does not mean I’m going to serenade them with Grateful Dead tunes…though, that could be a fun science experiment) and then water and feed my plants.

And then, I’m going to have to water my yard. Of course, y’all know what’s going to happen, don’t you? The grass in my yard will continue its downward spiral toward full death, while the grass in the flowerbed that I supposedly killed with poison and pulled will defy all odds and continue to flourish. Probably, it will turn mutant and take over the world.

Maybe X-Men IV could be about my mutant grass.

Or a whole new cartoon would spring forth: Teenage Mutant Ninja Grass

Or it could turn into the latest anime craze! Grassimon: The Mutant Evolution

I have to say the thought of seeing an anime blade of grass is a little frightening. I might just be onto something…

Why is it that the grass in my front yard is a lovely shade of dead but the grass in my flowerbed is green and prospering?

It’s not because I’ve been watering my flowerbed. No. I’ve been a negligent little gardener this year. I’m getting better though. I spent three hours weeding and doing the pine straw thing last night.

Tonight, I’m going to finish the pine straw, plant some lantana, dead-head my roses (no, this does not mean I’m going to serenade them with Grateful Dead tunes…though, that could be a fun science experiment) and then water and feed my plants.

And then, I’m going to have to water my yard. Of course, y’all know what’s going to happen, don’t you? The grass in my yard will continue its downward spiral toward full death, while the grass in the flowerbed that I supposedly killed with poison and pulled will defy all odds and continue to flourish. Probably, it will turn mutant and take over the world.

Maybe X-Men IV could be about my mutant grass.

Or a whole new cartoon would spring forth: Teenage Mutant Ninja Grass

Or it could turn into the latest anime craze! Grassimon: The Mutant Evolution

I have to say the thought of seeing an anime blade of grass is a little frightening. I might just be onto something…

I have been working my little fingers to the bone, lately.

Now, I’ve not been working them to nubs like my CP, Louisa (aka The Blogless One and Title Slut) TBO&TS managed 50 pages this week! That’s just awesome and I’m so happy for her.

As Maria told you when she blognapped me, I’ve been finishing up revisions on my proposal, Thieves in the Night. I’m excited about its possibilities, but at the same time, I’m nervous that it won’t find a home.

TBO&TS and I had a discussion about why we wanna be in this business. Why do we put ourselves out there? I mean, publishing is a tough business and writing is a passion. Why do we want to mix the two? Because when the rejections roll in, it’s a tough thing to swallow.

It’s hard not to take it personally. It’s hard not to get defensive and say, “But dammit! That’s my heart you’re rejecting!” It’s like finally professing your true love to the high school quarterback only to have him say, “I really like you, but only as a friend.” or “You have a great personality, but I like Tiffani better.” (no offense to any Tiffani’s out there–but be honest, Tiff, you’ve never been told you have a great personality…)

I’m glad I’ve been in the corporate world for as long as I have. That has honestly trained me to take the rejection better. Sure, it still stings. I wouldn’t be human if it didn’t. It hurts like hell. But, after the initial pain wears off, I go back and try to learn from the R. Is it something I can change? Is it my voice? My story? My writing? Am I getting the same feedback from more than one house? After I analyze the rejections, I apply what I learn to the next project or I work on or my rewrites.

So, why do we want to be in this business? I love to write, but writing for myself isn’t enough. I can’t imagine not pursuing the goal of publishing. If I don’t succeed, at least I can’t say it’s because I didn’t try.

I used to joke that if I didn’t have any goals, then I couldn’t fail. But the fact is, I have one goal: To be a successful published author. I am taking steps toward that goal. And I will succeed because I’m not giving up until I do and because I have the support of some great friends and a wonderful agent who are there to pick me up when I think I’m failing.

Failure isn’t an option. That’s why I’m in overdrive now.

I have been working my little fingers to the bone, lately.

Now, I’ve not been working them to nubs like my CP, Louisa (aka The Blogless One and Title Slut) TBO&TS managed 50 pages this week! That’s just awesome and I’m so happy for her.

As Maria told you when she blognapped me, I’ve been finishing up revisions on my proposal, Thieves in the Night. I’m excited about its possibilities, but at the same time, I’m nervous that it won’t find a home.

TBO&TS and I had a discussion about why we wanna be in this business. Why do we put ourselves out there? I mean, publishing is a tough business and writing is a passion. Why do we want to mix the two? Because when the rejections roll in, it’s a tough thing to swallow.

It’s hard not to take it personally. It’s hard not to get defensive and say, “But dammit! That’s my heart you’re rejecting!” It’s like finally professing your true love to the high school quarterback only to have him say, “I really like you, but only as a friend.” or “You have a great personality, but I like Tiffani better.” (no offense to any Tiffani’s out there–but be honest, Tiff, you’ve never been told you have a great personality…)

I’m glad I’ve been in the corporate world for as long as I have. That has honestly trained me to take the rejection better. Sure, it still stings. I wouldn’t be human if it didn’t. It hurts like hell. But, after the initial pain wears off, I go back and try to learn from the R. Is it something I can change? Is it my voice? My story? My writing? Am I getting the same feedback from more than one house? After I analyze the rejections, I apply what I learn to the next project or I work on or my rewrites.

So, why do we want to be in this business? I love to write, but writing for myself isn’t enough. I can’t imagine not pursuing the goal of publishing. If I don’t succeed, at least I can’t say it’s because I didn’t try.

I used to joke that if I didn’t have any goals, then I couldn’t fail. But the fact is, I have one goal: To be a successful published author. I am taking steps toward that goal. And I will succeed because I’m not giving up until I do and because I have the support of some great friends and a wonderful agent who are there to pick me up when I think I’m failing.

Failure isn’t an option. That’s why I’m in overdrive now.

I promise.

I started working on it yesterday, but I was so busy at work, that I didn’t have time to finish it.

Can you believe they make me work at work? I mean, the nerve. It’s like they expect me to actually EARN my paycheck.

Humph.

Meanwhile, if you like the Muppets and you’re looking for a fun time waster, go here: Gonzo Game

TTFN