A Writer's Mind
She’s a writer, alright – Tanya has informed me that it’s time for a new blog post. Yes, ma’am, it is. So here’s what’s on my mind today.
I have a book that was supposed to be on Fictionwise about 3-4 months ago, and it’s only now up. So I feel I’m in a dilemma – do I solicit reviews on my own next time or rely on the editor/publisher to do this, as they’d said they would do (and didn’t)? I’m new enough at this game that I still don’t have all the protocol down.
Something else on my mind…just talking to myself here, really. I should have worked this out ages ago, but I never thought I’d be writing everything that I am. I’ve decided to write my male/male books under yet another pseudonym, Cash Cole, combining Lyn Cash with Bobbie Cole, but neither of them write m/m, and for some weird reason I thought I’d leave a definite trail of crumbs that led back to each author. Lyn writes erotic romance for women, Bobbie writes mainstream fiction and chick lit mystery and nonfiction. Cash will be totally m/m oriented.
It gets confusing at times, but…not yet. I suppose when the real weirdness begins is when I have books to sign next year at national RWA under all 3 names, which looks quite possible. What would the rest of you do? Or is this really a big deal at all?
I have figured out that I’m in the wrong business—I should have gone into Sex Toys instead of Sex Writing. Check out the Body Bouncer. Part of me is thinking “Now why didn’t I think of that?” – ROFL
My foray into erotic romance started when I critiqued a friend’s 1st erotic romance and thought…hmm. I could do this. Not like she does, probably not as well, but I could do this. Her writing is fun, and she seems to have a ball doing this, so I’m gonna give it a try.
When my own life circumstances were making me nuts, I tried chick lit mystery. I’d had a friend who wanted to kill her husband by putting peanuts or peanut oil into his meatloaf. I spent like 3 hours trying to talk her out of it (and did) after he tied her up with the toaster cord one night and kidnapped their 2 daughters for a couple of days. I was also helping a friend repo cars whose owners were delinquent on their payments. Now this was a real stretch for someone who grew up a princess as I did. One of us holding the gun, another holding the cell phone, both of us having to think fast on our feet. The first repo (I’m nearly 6’ tall to her 5’), I had to drive the repo car since it was a big Lincoln and her feet wouldn’t reach the peddles. Plus I couldn’t squeeze both boobs and both legs into her compact car because the steering wheel wouldn’t move. So there I was scared to death and wondering if I could get that Lincoln back to the car lot without being shot, knowing the trunk was full of hot stereo equipment the guy had (I did let him take it out eventually – but we had to understand that he was the one behind on his payments and that I was only doing my job). Anyway, I poured all of my frustrations into a chick lit mystery called Lethal Lasagna, which is in New York at present being evaluated. Lethal Meatloaf just didn’t cut it as a title. [And, yes, other books for the series are partially written, such as Killer Kabob and Treacherous Tiramisu.]
I wrote about 50 confessions during a time when I was hearing all kinds of strange stories from friends and acquaintances. You know what I mean, right? Sometimes people just gotta talk. Then I would pick up tidbits just eavesdropping, without meaning to, mind you. So when a woman was talking about her neighbors (the man had died, and the widow was grieving, of course) and mentioned that they’d been trying to conceive via invitro fertilization, pervert here thought…wonder what she did with all of that sperm in the sperm bank? Thus was born “What Do I Do With My Dead Husband’s Sperm?” Yeah, I know. Sick. But it sold.
Then there are stories that come from out of nowhere. That’s what happened with Leaving Mama, my first mainstream coming out with Samhain Publishing in May. (It’s listed under Coming Soon bottom of page – by Bobbie Cole.) A middle-aged woman and her two older daughters are charged with Gran’s last will and testament. Violet wants to be buried in Minnesota, when the family lives in Oklahoma. Once they get there, they realize why—Gran had a second family there that none of them knew about. Anyway, the casket slides out of the rented hearse onto a rain-slick highway, the oldest daughter has a massive stroke at the gravesite, and family matters go south from there.
So when someone asks me where I get my ideas, I really am pretty dumbfounded for a bit. How do you explain something like a writer’s mind and how real life cuts across their fiction? How do you convince them that you feel it’s okay to destroy your enemies and praise your loved ones without actually shining a spotlight on them and saying “This is So & So”? I’ve tortured one poor bastard in so many ways it’s not even funny. I’ve given him the clap, made him ugly, turned him into a killer. All because he pissed me off pretty badly. I’ve also put one girlfriend who has been through the proverbial wars with me as heroine, nurse, caregiver, Cinderella, and “the voice of reason”…she’ll find herself in many books in one form or the other. I like her socks. I need to do something with that some day.
And that’s what’s on my mind today. If you don’t like it, blame Tanya – lol. Remember, too, "Be kinder than necessary, for everyone you meet is fighting some kind of battle." I try to keep that in mind as I write.
Thanks for sharing your own thoughts, and may the muse treat you well.