Confessions Of A Crazy Car Writer

Careless driver listening to music

I’m writing in my car

Turn on the radio

I pull a thought closer

It just says no

I say that I don’t like it

But I know I’m a liar

‘Cause when I drive

Ooooh-oooh fiiiii-re . . .


You heard me. I write in the car.


Before you scratch your head over a vision of me propping my keyboard on a steering wheel or madly typing text into my phone as I drift across the lanes of the highway, know that I am a car-talker.

That’s right, a car talker.

I talk to myself in my car. I talk to others, too – coworkers, friends, family members, other drivers, my kids, political figures (don’t get me started), celebrities – pretty much anybody is fair game. When my marriage fell apart, I had numerous, lengthy conversations with my ex (none of which he was in attendance for, of course), and God only knows how many times my kids have been spared a lecture only because I already had it without them.

But lately, I’ve started really working through my books this way, having conversations with characters, playing ‘what if,’ sequencing through logistical problems in setting or plot – my car is like my idea zone, where I can muse aloud and blather and pontificate to a captive audience of me.

It’s honestly where I do my best writing, (some of which is occasionally brilliant) but alas, my scumbag brain doesn’t remember half of it, and the half it does remember contains little of the witty dialog or engaging commentary I came up with on the commute into work. It’s a pale echo, at best.

I keep telling myself I should record it all, but then I’d have to actually remember to set my phone to record and then remember to turn it off before I get to the office and that’s not really likely to happen with regularity. I’m lucky if I remember to be fully dressed when I head out the door in the morning (Seriously, I drove to work barefoot once!).

I guess you could say I owe my next book in part to the Pennsylvania Turnpike.  Whatever works, y’all. Whatever works.

What’s Up Wednesday: Writing And Mentoring

whatsupwed

I have been laugh-out-loud crazy busy. Borderline psychotic, even. What kind of idiot thinks they can fully research and write a first draft in six weeks? This kind, apparently. But the really weird thing is, I woke in the middle of the night a few days ago and had a sudden revelation about a cool plot hook and ever since, the  book has pretty much been writing itself.

So I’m plugging away, and God willing, we’ll have an awesome book (in hardcover!) circa 2019. Continue reading

Story Outlines, Story Outlines, Story Outlines . . .

outlines

When typing is problematic, we do things the old-fashioned way. Got derailed on my current project, but post-it notes and a visual outline really got me back on track and sent my plot in a much stronger direction.

Then I got on a roll and had to outline two more projects that are traipsing through my head.

arrprze

Today, I am a one-woman writing MACHINE. BooYAH!!

Have a great weekend – see ya on Monday, hopefully with a completed first draft!

Clearly, I Am Not Meant To Write On Vacation . . .

ow

That, my lovelies, is an elbow. My elbow. Yeah.

And that’s just the inside view. The other side of my arm has bruising that goes down to my wrist.

It all happened on Wednesday. I was camping with my kids and I took my bike to the bathhouse that morning to get a shower. As I was leaving, a family pulled up in a golf cart. I had to crank my bike pedal around and fumbled a bit (c’mon, it was early) then I took off riding, completely forgetting that my towel was slung over the handlebars. It snagged in the wheel (of course) and I flew over the handlebars and hit the road hard. As I rolled painfully to my feet to detangle everything, golf cart Dad turned to his kids and said, “drunk.”

So that was awesome. Continue reading

So It Turns Out I Repeat The Same Repetitive Phrases Repeatedly

Writers block

I just finished slogging through the last of the copyedits for DREAMER, tidying up the occasional continuity question, and addressing all the places I have a repetitive phrase or word.

Oh, Lordy.

I have a problem. Ladies and Gentleman, I am here to confess I have a serious problem. How many times can someone sigh and lean back on a table? Or roll their eyes? Or “snap” when they say something? Continue reading