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.
Bio
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.
