Do you talk to yourself?

Do you?  I mean, out loud?

I didn’t used to.  Only deranged people talk aloud to themselves, right?  But there are certain circumstances now when I find myself doing it.

Like when I carry two super-heavy bags of groceries in from the car and heave them onto the kitchen counter.  Okay, I grunt in relief when the first hits.  Okay, I grunt when the second lands beside it.

I also talk to myself in times of frustration, like when someone cuts me off in traffic.  You imbecile, I mutter under my breath, often using a more rude word than imbecile, but since I’m talking to myself, myself isn’t shocked.  Are you in such a *** rush that you can’t be civil?

A shrug and a smile

Ahah!  Bet you thought I haven’t been knitting, since I’ve been blogging about everything but that.  You would be wrong.  When writing days are the longest, I need my knitting the most.

I’m shrugging – no, not doing the bobbing thing with the shoulders, but knitting a shrug.  Remember, I mentioned it in my blog on instant gratification?  I even posted a picture there of the yarn I was going to use.

When characters are name-callers

Here’s another thought for those of you who are interested in the kinds of things a writer has to consider.

In a single stretch of dialogue, how often should the characters call each other by name?  I’ve been hypersensitive about this lately, because I just read another book that, IMHO, did it very wrong.

Here’s an excerpt from Sweet Salt Air in which Charlotte and Nicole are discussing Cecily Cole.  Cecily is the legendary island herbalist, alternately feared and adored.  Her herbs, which are particularly strong, are what makes island food so special.

Novelist as shrink

So I’m re-reading Sweet Salt Air and seeing remarks about my characters’ emotional baggage.  Take this brief excerpt.  Charlotte, the main voice in Sweet Salt Air, is trying to explain to her BFF Nicole why she has never married.

“What terrifies me,” Charlotte said in a measured way, speaking from the heart as she couldn’t with anyone else, “is falling hard, getting hurt, and having to put my life back together again.”

“Like you did growing up.”

A watershed moment for Sweet Salt Air

I do try to blog several times a week, but it’s been ten days since my last post, and you loyal readers have Sweet Salt Air to blame.  I’ve reached a critical point in the book – three hundred pages done, with the final climactic hundred ready to go.  But … but … but …

Several sticking points.  First, there’s a medical angle to this story, and though I’ve been working with a doctor in the Midwest since last summer, it’s suddenly showtime.  That means re-reading everything he sent, making (another) list of questions for him, and, most importantly, firming up my timeline.

Why do I blog?

Let me make one thing clear.  I don’t blog to express a political opinion.  As a novelist, my taking a stand on anything political or religious is disastrous.  When I talked here last week about civil discourse, it was to vent not about what we say but how we say it.

So there you go – one reason why I blog.  I blog to vent about something, be it civil discourse, airport security, or plastic bags.

But there are other reasons.  I mean, it’s not like I’m sitting around with nothing to do.  I have to put blogging on my calendar, or else it gets lost in the shuffle of the daily writing, in this case, of Sweet Salt Air.

How emotional am I writing my characters’ emotions?

I’m on a Sweet Salt Air roll, so this blog won’t be long.  But I’m asked this question often.  Do I feel what I write?  If my characters are shocked, do I feel the shock?  If they’re heartsick, do I cry?  And yes – someone recently asked this in a blog comment – if they’re aroused, am I?

You wouldn’t ask any of it if you’d seen me this week.  I’ve been writing three consecutive scenes in Sweet Salt Air, each pivotal to the plot, each filled with high emotion, and I’ve been wringing my hands, pacing the floor, writing with my heart in my mouth, waking at night with my characters’ worries.  We’re talking betrayal, heartache, and fear.  You may read it in passing, but I live with it.

Downtime

I did nothing last weekend.  Nothing.  And it was hard.  I am fully serious when I say that.  I’m not used to doing nothing.  I kept jumping up,ready to do laundry or pay bills or check email or blog.  For me, doing is a visceral thing.

My racy past

Type my name into Amazon, then sort by publication date, and you’ll find books of mine that you’ve never heard of.  Take First, Best and Only.  Originally published in 1986, a first-ever hardcover edition is coming in March.  I didn’t know this until I checked the Amazon list myself, which is often the only way I can find out when my early books are being reissued.  Once I sell pub rights to a publisher (as I did First, Best and Only to Harlequin), they don’t have to ask my permission.  They don’t even have to let me know.

How to write a sex scene

I’ve written sex scenes, oh have I written sex scenes.  I’ve written twelve-page ones, six-page ones, one-page ones.  I’ve also written two-paragraph sex scenes, and they’re just as special as the longest of the long.  The reason?  It’s all about the feeling behind the sex.