D*mn This Snuck Up on Me ! by Nancy Fraser

I look up from my current work-in-progress and .... all of sudden ... it's the 4th of the month and I have a column due tomorrow. D*mn!

Hmm, what to write??? Do I just recycle an older column? Or, do I try and be brilliant and write something new? Decisions, decisions.

My calendars (yes, I have three) look like war zones. I'm editing two books while writing two more. My brain is surviving on coffee and (self-proclaimed) stupidity.

How did I get myself into this mess anyway??? I blame the pandemic. Why not? We're blaming it for everything else, aren't we? Isolation has given me a really distorted sense of time. It's provided me with so much "alone" time that I have a hard time judging if I'm taking on too much.

Obviously, I am, or I wouldn't have forgotten to write this column until the last minute. Perhaps, I need a vacation. Not that I can stop the stories in my head, or the deadlines, or the need for promotion just by going on vacation -- even if I could travel.

Instead of a vacation away from home, I've decided to take a vacation IN my home. So, I ...

Break out the fancy foot spa my daughter-in-law gave me two or three Christmases ago that I've never taken the time to use. It's a wonderful contraption with not just a huge, vibrating (already, I'm excited) foot massager, but it also has a hot wax tub for my weary, winter-dry feet. This should be fun!

Heck, while I'm at it, I'll make use of the equally fancy manicure kit she gave me last Christmas (I think). Quickly, I get the entire thing set up in my wide-open living area, and I'm ready to go.

First off, I spill hot, soapy water all over the now-slippery bathroom floor. Which, then, splashes out onto the carpeted hallway. Not a great start, given it takes me thirty minutes of my "stay-cation" to clean up the mess. Finally, though, everything's in place and the spa tub filled to the right level.

Feet in, I reach for the switch to turn on the vibrating base. I get a shock. I guess my hands weren't as dry as I thought. I'm suddenly having second thoughts about a foot bath and electricity. Maybe no vibrator for me (now, I'm far less excited).

Oh, and I forgot a towel! I'll have to slowly duck-walk my wet feet back to the bathroom. Or, I could just take off my T-shirt and use it to dry my feet.

Problem solved. 😁

Now, it's time for the hot wax treatment. I'm getting excited again. I read the directions carefully (okay, maybe I glanced at them). I put the appropriate number of blocks of wax into the machine and turned it on. This sucker works fast. It's ready before my feet are dry from their soak.

I carefully check the gauge on the side to make sure I've reached the correct temperature. Success! In goes the first foot. Ouch...that's hot. I'm tough, I can take it. First foot done, second foot in.

The phone...which I left in the office...rings. Loudly. It's a good thing my writing is more organized than my mini-vacation. I ignore the phone. Hopefully, it's not important.

Both feet covered in wax, I go to move the little tub out of the way and splash wax on the floor and--unfortunately--on my T-shirtless chest. Thank heaven for my sturdy, old-lady bra. Staying at home must have altered my depth perception as well, because I'm spilling stuff everywhere. Another thing to blame on isolation.

Just for the record, it hurts to peel this waxy stuff off when you haven't shaved your lower legs in forever (isolation, remember). Soak tub put aside, wax machine set aside, it's time for the manicure. I open the first bottle of polish and promptly manage to spill it on the chair-side table.

That's it ... I'm done. Screw it!

I'm going back to writing books. Lots and lots of books! As frazzled as I am, being verklempt over my screwy schedule beats having to clean up water, soap, wax and nail polish any day! Not to mention, being reminded I should shave my legs!

As for that phone call? It was my son who happened to be in town and wondered if I'd like for him to drop off some lunch from my favorite fast food place. Snooze (or not answer) and you lose, apparently.

Now, I have wax speckles on my chest, my hallway carpet is still wet, I have nail polish to scrape off my end table, and no lunch.

I hope your day is going or went better than mine!

Nancy

You’re NOT the Boss of Me! by Nancy Fraser #RomanceGems

I can remember hearing the phrase “you’re not the boss of me” often when I was growing up – usually uttered by my cousins while I was babysitting. Years later, married with children of my own, our younger son could often be heard arguing with his older brother and literally yelling that same, time-worn phrase. Even my beautiful granddaughters have been guilty of denying their older brother’s place as “the boss of them”.

           

So here I sit, diligently crafting my current work in progress, relishing the peace and quiet of solitude when, all of a sudden, my heroine screams, “You’re not the boss of me. I’m not going to do that! I want to do this and so does my hero!”

Why won’t these crazy voices in my head just stay where I put them? Why must they demand to do something totally at odds with what I’ve plotted out?

Unfortunately, as writers, we’re often slaves to the whims of our characters, in much the same way readers want them to take a specfic path in their journey. I want a quiet interlude; they demand hot and steamy! I want them to be polite; they choose to be vocal about what’s bothering them. It’s truly a struggle of wills.

How do we get our characters to behave? That all depends on how disciplined you want your book to be. Do you want it to stick to the outline without deviation? If so, you need to crack down on your heroine’s penchant for speaking her mind. Do you want to be adventurous? Then, loosen the lead and let your characters have their way occasionally. Yet, how much is too much leeway? It’s a fine line between the story you envisioned and the one that seems to be sliding onto that blank computer screen.

A good rule of thumb: if the change is going to affect the plot so drastically that your ending, or possibly even your next chapter, will have to be thrown out you might want to re-think the hero or heroine’s motives for hijacking your story.

I remember critiquing a synopsis for a friend years ago. The story was tight, and she’d even created a chapter outline to keep her focused on her story. A few months later, she asked if I’d line edit the manuscript. How could I refuse? I’d been intrigued by her synopsis.

The story she sent me had little to do with what she’d put in the synopsis. Yet, the finished product was a joy to read and required very little editing. After I was done, I called her and asked, “What happened to the scene where your hero has to break up with his long-standing girlfriend? Where was the scene with the heroine’s dying mother?”

The author’s response: “I tried to go there, but my character’s kept putting their foot on the brakes.”

Sometimes a hijacked story can become the book of your heart. Other times, it becomes a dust bunny on your hard drive with nowhere to go but the trash bin. You, the author, have to be the babysitter, the over-tired mother, or the doting grandmother and rein your book-children in. Without your gentle and loving guidance, who knows where the heck they’ll end up!

One can only hope they’ll land on their feet or, even better, at the top of the NYT Bestseller list!

Speaking of being "hijacked" by a muse ... probably the most hijacked I've ever been is by heroine in my recent release, D*mn Near Perfect. I was trying to set her up with a banker and an old flame -- both her own age. But, my feisty cougar insisted on an artist cub! And, I couldn't have been happier with the result.

Beth Andrews has given up on ever finding a happily-ever-after. Still smarting from a bitter divorce, she’s decided the only thing she truly needs is sex.

Unfortunately, wanting sex and actually finding it are two very different things.

Jonathan Tucker is perfectly satisfied with his bachelor lifestyle. He has a wonderful career, a kick-ass new condo, and any woman he wants. As often as he wants. At twenty-seven, he’s convinced he’s living life exactly as it should be.

Will the older, albeit sexy, ad executive and the handsome, talented artist both find there’s more to life than what they have now? Or, will they be satisfied with what the both claim to want—d*mn near perfect sex!

Warning: This book contains language and sexual situations some readers may find HAWT!

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Until I'm back later this month to celebrate another Book Birthday ... stay happy, stay healthy, stay safe, and stay well read.

Nancy