I recently had the pleasure of listening to a presentation by a well-known mystery author. I write too, so I was excited to glean any words of wisdom she might have. She talked about her office, her writing schedule, her road to becoming a bestselling author. She showed us a lovely scene of a writer seated at a large, orderly desk situated at a window that offered a view of a serene meadow. She indicated she enters this peaceful setting and doesn’t leave until she has reached her daily word quota. She estimated that this took her about four hours.
As she spoke, I felt the tips of my ears turning green with envy. My day is nothing like hers. Case in point--this morning.
It's sunny but snowing here in the Northeast. I decide it’s a good day to sit in front of the bay window, watch the snow, and write. My dogs, Molly and Chloe, sleep on a rug in front of the fireplace. I pour a mug of hazelnut coffee, and gather my writing gear.
Most days I write to music. Sometimes I listen to songs on my iPod. At other times, I play a DVD with a soundtrack that compliments what I am writing. Today I pop Pacific Rim into the DVD player. I’m all set.
Then I remember I need to throw in a load of laundry, make the bed, clean the bathroom, and empty the dishwasher. Whew. Now I can sit and write. Restart Pacific Rim.
The phone rings. It's my vet. Ring. Then my doctor. Ring. This time I chat with a friend in imaginary crisis. Talk her off the imaginary ledge. An hour gone. Heat up the coffee. Restart Pacific Rim.
The laundry needs to be moved to the dryer. I think I’ll have a bite of lunch. Tuna melt. Yum. A fresh cup of coffee. Restart Pacific Rim.
The girls want to go play in the snow. I come back in, change my wet clothes, and start the second round on the scene, adding a few details. Restart Pacific Rim.
Four hours later I have a rough draft of a blog post and typed in the dialog of my next scene. I’ve scribbled notes about Act 3 and played with my plotting board. I’ve told myself I only have 20,000 more words to write. I am not amused.
My writing world is not even in the same universe as the one mystery writer lives in. I am nowhere near as prolific as she is. But that's okay—I write too.
Trevann Rogers writes urban fantasy and LGBT paranormal romances and is the author of House of the Rising Son, Living After Midnight Book 1. Her stories incorporate an unquenchable addition to music and her love for vampires, Weres, incubi and rock stars. Like these elusive creatures, Trevann learned long ago that sometimes being yourself means Living After Midnight.
House of the Rising Son
Living After Midnight, Book 1
Sex. Rebellion. Rock and roll.
Cheyenne is a half-human incubus whose star is on the rise in the Unakite City rock scene. His father, the leader of the supernatural races, would prefer he keep a “low profile”, but screw that. Cheyenne has as much music in his veins as royal incubi blood.
Alexander's future is all set—finish law school, join the family firm, and marry someone who'd be good for business. Not that he has a say in any of it. He's barely met the woman his father expects him to marry.
As Cheyenne's musical career takes off, his carefully constructed life begins to unravel, exacerbated by an ex-lover who can't let go, a crotchety barkeeper with a dirty mind and a pure heart, a drag queen who moonlights as a nanny, and Alexander—who's not sure if he's falling for the incubus or the rocker.
Cheyenne denies who he is, while Alexander hides what he wants. Together, they learn that getting what they truly want means being who they truly are.