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?

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…