It is month end, which means another update to my Get Your Words Out tally. Last month was a banner month for writing, and this month I did even better. I’ve been on a few “missions” the last couple of months, which is generating a lot of words. This makes me happy.

My total for the month of June, through about 5pm today, is 40,001 words. WOW! I hit about 35K words last month, which was my biggest month so far. Half of that is some thought and pontificating about changing my life and sharing pieces of myself over at the Diary.  The other half, I am happy to say, are additions to my story All I Wanna Do! I managed to get 2 chapters in last month, which is great! Got to keep it goin’!

My grand total for the year now is 203,927. That means I have fewer than 100K words until I hit my 300,000 mark. Uhm, seriously? I’m totally gonna make that. I have at LEAST 50,000 words left of AIWD, if not more. Plus NaNo is coming up in October- not sure if I am doing it yet, and a friend gave me an idea for something new that’s niggling at me. I’ve been laughing off the idea but damn if it’s not writing itself in my head!

Maybe in July. Maybe.

In all, I’m pleased with the progress! To think I was worried…………

Anyway, my numbers this month turned out pretty well– 39,400 words for the month. Total of 163,926. I am officially OVER halfway to my 300,000 goal. Amazing. Now for sure if I do NaNo this year that will put me over 300K, but I’m not sure I’m doing NaNo. I guess we will see once October comes and we’ll see if I have any ideas.

Til then, onward! I’m still ‘just writing’ and trying to plow through my storyline. Pen in hand,

it’s a loooonnnggg weekend, and coming up on the end of the month, which means a  GYWO word count, yay! I actually got back to some writing this month, which feels good. Getting away from needing a pat on the back for every little step and just… writing (even though I did send a very rough draft to a friend for reading because I am special like that. And she was bored. Sue me), so I’ll be adding more to that story before I go back and edit words out. I wrote them so I am counting them!

I also finished A Reliable Wife this morning. Erm. Interesting. It took me so long to finish this book I don’t even know if I can review it but I will try and post it up here. I might have bought a couple of books today…… okay I did buy a couple of books today. They seem to be oldies but goodies but I flipped through them at Target and they looked interesting. I got The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath and Go Ask Alice, author anonymous.

Looking forward to reading them both!

The archive that I use to host my stories (and a lot of archives use) is efiction. It makes it easier to track and post chapter stories and even categorize your works. There’s a limit to how many characters you can post in one chapter. On mine I think it’s like… 50,000 characters or something like that. Elsewhere, the limit is lower, which translates to about 10,000 words, give or take.

Now, to some 10,000 words is an entire story. For me, for a serial story, it’s a mere chapter. I know, I write a lot. I’m wordy. It’s a blessing and a curse. I’ve found myself, over the course of telling this tale, tailoring my words to the word limit instead of letting the story tell itself. This amounts to undue pressure and stress and breaking the story up into chunks that don’t really seem to gel, if you read it all at once. It comes through like vignettes and not a complete story, something I may or may not fix once I finish it.

So my new approach is to just write. Not try to figure out what is going to happen chapter by chapter. I’m just writing. I’ll split it up into chunks later, edit so that they string together nicely, but I’m just going to write, write, write until it’s done.  There is the small matter of reviews (feedback) that come with posting a new chapter. They are quite encouraging and it’s nice to know I’m being read. I’m not sure how I’ll make it without them but I’ll find a way, I’m sure. Maybe once I get stuck on a certain part I will start posting chapters, much like I did with Same Time Next Week, where I didn’t start posting chapters until week 3 of NaNoWriMo.  Who knows??? I just know I’m going to try not to stress about it, and just write for the enjoyment of writing.

I so miss that, from the early days, rushing home to open Word and pound out a few thousand words.  Fan fiction used to be my practice. Writing used to be fun.  Time to get back to that, pull my head out of my…behind…. and write.

I’m also remembering that I had set a goal this year to write something new, some shorter stories. I’ve written two, I think– The Storm And Try to Say No (which needs to be added to my archive, I see). More, more, more I say!

Feeling renewed and inspired,

I wish I could capture some of this momentum to fix and finish Same Time Next Week. *looks at it* *looks away* *sighs*

Baby steps.

Coming up on AIWD are a few chapters I’ve been thinking about for a long time but I really have no plans as far as how to execute them. I don’t want to put a lot of time and space between updates though. Hopefully tomorrow night I can sit down with my outline and put some ideas together.

Taking the rest of the night off!

I did my usual Sunday entry over at the Diary and I spoke a little about my lack of motivation when it comes to writing.  I thought I might glance back at my blog to see if I was feeling the same way around this time last year, and I think that I might have been. Maybe it’s a seasonal thing or a cyclical thing, but I just don’t feel like writing. Sometimes things come to me, additions to my WIP, conversations, ideas. I write them down… it goes nowhere, really. I sit down to add to one of the WIPs I have going and I just feel like it’s lame. So surface and not at all deep or character revealing and just… lame. I think I may have story fatigue, but I do WANT to finish both projects I have going. I just..have zero motivation.

I don’t know what else to do when I feel like this, but to wait it out. Making myself write when I don’t feel like writing results in hours of lame prose that I’ll just delete anyway. I hate everything I have written lately and when I read other people’s work, I am so jealous of the level of skill. When I read blogs and see people that are getting book deals from their writing, I’m not so much jealous as…as… I don’t know. I feel like I should be further along than I am and perhaps I am not because I give into these times when I don’t feel like writing.

I wrote a new scene for the Flirtfest and liked it at first. A few weeks later I looked at it when I went to post it and absolutely hated it. Bland, unemotional, lame, dull. So I went back to something I wrote when I was doing well.

Sometimes I wonder if I am not really a writer, if I struggle so much with writing. It should not be this hard.

So I am asking anyone who writes and reads this blog: what do you do when you’re uninspired? When ideas don’t come and everything seems lame and the writing is lackluster at best? Do you put it away for a bit? Push through? Find some inspiration somewhere, somehow, some way?

I’m sure I have asked this question before… I feel like I have. In fact, this is a rehash of the same post I seem to make every month.

I guess I should read back and see what people have said. I just hate feeling like I suck.

Looking for inspiration,

On Sunday, May 16, 2010 post your favorite flirty scene, either from one of your WIPs, or a brand new one you’ve written just for this blogfest. It can range anywhere from sweet to hot, and any genre is fair game…you don’t have to be a romance writer to participate!

I wrote something specifically for this Fest, but I kind of hate it. It’s so bland. Boo. Then I remembered a scene I really liked from my 2009 NaNoWriMo. It is edited from its original form but the gist is the same. Some steamy flirting going on, so this excerpt is Rated R.

Excerpted from Same Time Next Week:

Somewhere between the second shot and him letting her win at darts, Shelby decided that whatever was going to happen, was going to happen. It seemed like it was going that way-if he wasn’t to ask her to go home with him, he wouldn’t have asked if she was hungry. That sneak was trying to drag out the date!  She didn’t blame him. She wasn’t ready to go home yet, either.

‘Besides, I could use some of that, right now.’

The Dessert Lady was a cute little store front with striped awnings over the windows and tables for two set up around the small space. At the front of the store, a glass case was lined with rows and rows of cakes and pies from cherry to strawberry pie, from pound cake to chocolate cake to coffeecake. Shelby’s eyes lit up at the selection. Jackson was momentarily forgotten-she was lusting after the chocolate torte, sitting in the middle of the case.

“Have you had any of these, before?”

“Honey, I have had all of these before. They are all excellent. You’re a big fan of chocolate, right?  The torte is excellent…”

“I was looking at that…”

“Or the Six Layer Cake is really good, too… or the Oreo Cheesecake. I’m partial to the Peanut Butter Pie, myself.”

After a few minutes of slowly crawling the dessert case and drooling over each selection, Shelby made her decision, nodding at the decadent layers of chocolate in the middle of the case. “That torte is calling my name.”

Jackson ordered for the both of them, and then, despite being alone in the store, pulled her toward a table near the window, behind an oversized fringe curtain. The table was small, so small their knees bumped under it.

“So, you’ve been in Orlando all of four days. What do you think of it?”

Shelby gulped at the glass of water set in front of her. Three beers and two shots made for a very tipsy girl. She wanted all of her wits about her, later on. “I like it. It’s nice. I mean, a little frustrating at four am, but at least it’s quiet. I feel like I don’t get a moment’s peace in Miami. The city never sleeps. That gets tiring after awhile. So, yeah, it’s nice. I’m in Winter Park, actually. Real small town-ish.”

Jackson perked, sitting up straight, head tilted a little. “Wait. You live in Winter Park?” Shelby nodded, smiling. She had no idea where he lived exactly, just that he was rumored to have a home there. Winter Park wasn’t that big… he had to be close.  ”What part?”

“Off of Park, near Rollins College, I think it is?”

“Yeah, I’m not too far from there at all. Lake Virginia. How weird that we live so close to each other.”

“Well, if you think about it, not really. We met at the neighborhood grocery store. It’s not like I drove from Melbourne to shop at the Winter Park Publix.”

Jackson smirked, narrowing his eyes, mouthing a playful ‘smartass’ across the table. He was delightful. So funny and laid back. And cute. And so sexy. Every time he smiled at her, her stomach lurched and she felt warm inside.

‘Ask me already! I don’t want to go home tonight. How many more signals do I need to send??!’

“Here we are,” said the server, a short woman dressed in white, complete with baker’s hat. “Peanut butter pie and chocolate torte. Enjoy.” She slid two plates and two forks onto the table and left a stack of napkins.

“That looks so good,” she said, eyeing his plate, stacked high with a peanut butter-chocolate concoction.

“It is. Haven’t had it in a long time, actually.”  He sliced off a chunk and slid it into his mouth, his eyes closing as he chewed, a few light moans coming from his throat.

Shelby laughed at his dramatics. “Is it really, really good, Jackson? You look like you’re about to–”

He laughed, almost shooting peanut butter and chocolate out of his mouth. “Not yet,” he said, wiggling a brow at her while shoving another forkful in his mouth. “It is good though. Want to try some?”

“I’d love a taste.”  Jackson picked up his fork again, but she stopped him with a touch of her hand, shaking her head slowly, a hint of a smile on her lips, praying he would catch her hint. ”Not from there.”

He caught it, loud and clear, but seemed like he wasn’t sure what to do. He blinked, swallowed, and then, springing into action, reached under the table to grab a rung of her chair and slide her around so she was sitting next to him.  Wasting no time at all, he laid an arm over the back of her chair and leaned in, tilting his head toward her. She met him halfway, mouth open, eyes closed, heart racing.

Warm. And sweet, and soft and gentle, and oh my God. He was kissing her. And he was awesome at it.

His tongue rasped across hers, over and under and around, swirling, spreading the taste of peanut butter and chocolate with it. His lips were soft, brushing against hers over and over, light as air. Shelby fought herself every second, trying not to push the table back and climb onto his lap, sort of grateful he hadn’t touched more than her lips. She was already on the edge, and just about over the point of no return.

He pulled back, his eyes dark and hooded, but his expression gentle. “How was it?” he mumbled, his face still so close to hers.

“Delicious,” she answered, grinning, licking residual peanut butter taste off of her lips. Trying not to pant.

“Thank you. I enjoyed that myself.”

“Good. It’s uhm… rich. The Peanut Butter Pie.”

“Yeah, it is. That’s why I like it. Lots of flavor.” He stared at her, blinking every few seconds. She stared back, bold. Refusing to look away and pretend she was shy, despite how… intense his stare was.

“So, uhm, not asking about the past, but I know you don’t sleep well. Are you… are you tired, or…”

“Not at all.”

He cleared his throat, and swallowed again. “Well, I was thinking maybe we could go someplace a little more private. Do some real talking.”

“Really. Where would this place be?”

His tongue flicked out of his mouth, wetting his bottom lip. He reached for his water glass and sucked down half of it. Shelby’s eyes never left his face. He laughed, finally, looking at her again.  “Why are you making this so hard on me?”

She giggled, caught in the act. “Because you already know the answer.”

“I do?”

“You wanted me to suggest I go home with you? How many times am I gonna hear Jackson Pierce ask me to go home with him?”

The smile faded, slowly. His eyes dropped to her lips, and he kissed her again, this time more forceful and passionate, deep breaths through his nose, his lips pressing hard against hers, his tongue darting in and out of her mouth, fighting with hers. He grabbed the back of her head and held her against him, against his mouth while he kissed her. It was so damn hot… the hottest kiss she’d ever had. Ever.

He pulled back, ending the kiss in a smack, and before his eyes even opened, said, “Come home with me. Please.”

“Yes,” she said, her voice no higher than a whisper. “We should maybe get our dessert to go. I’ll want to eat this torte, later.”

“And I’ll want to taste it.” He leaned in to her, his lips almost touching her ear. “Maybe I could lick it off of some places, too.”

Shelby stood so fast, she nearly knocked the chair over. She shook, she was so excited, and had to calm herself down before they left the store, to- go boxes in hand. Jackson seemed to be in a hurry, pulling her down Church Street, then crossing the street and walking toward a dark blue Mercedes. The lights flashed and the door lock clicked with a mechanical sound.

“Well, shouldn’t I just follow you in my car?”

“Nah, just hop in. I’ll bring you back to your car.” He all but pushed her into the passenger seat and shut the door as soon as she was inside, then walked around the front of the car and got in on the driver’s side.

“Okay, Jackson?” Shelby laid a hand on his arm. She understood his pain… really, she did. But this rush job wasn’t very sexy and was ruining the mood. “Relax. It’s gonna happen. I’m not a tease. You don’t have to rush. Take your time.”

He exhaled, blowing out a long, slow breath. He laid a hand over hers and squeezed. “Sorry. I’m not rushing. I’m just…. I like you. I’m ready. And I want to do this. Like, yesterday.”

“I know. I want that, too. Just slow down, a little. Be gentle. For now.”  She teased him, scraping a fingernail lightly down his arm. He groaned and squirmed in the seat, shoving the key into the ignition and turning it roughly.

“Lady…”  Jackson heaved a sigh, looked toward the heavens as if he was mentally thankking every higher power that existed, whether he believed in them or not. “You’ve been killing me, all night long. I cannot wait to get you home.” He grabbed her hand and shoved it between his legs, wrapping her fingers around the mass curled up in the front of his jeans. “Don’t you dare move that. Don’t even think about it.”

Et voila.

My April numbers show it, I feel. I usually hit about 30K words a month. this month I just barely scraped 25K. Got to get on the ball! Right after I take a nap.

I’ve attached the chart that I use to track and submit my numbers. There are corresponding monthly charts behind it that feed into this one. This just gives me a snapshot of where I am. Almost 50%! WOOO! Even given my slackerificness, I am head of the game.

GYWO_2010_Pledge_Tracker

Since I’m not used to warning or rating things but people will be reading it, we’ll call this an R and warn for adult language and light sexual content in conversation, not action.

They looked more like they were in trouble than if they’d been recruited.  Side by side they stood, aprons tied tightly, hands washed and dried, sullen expressions on their faces. Like thirteen year olds, except they were grown men.

“Don’t even,” I said, pacing in front of them, not falling for the ‘poor me’ pout.  “You two are so damn spoiled, and maybe it’s my fault, because I’ve been cooking since I moved in. But last night, when Ty actually placed an order, I decided you guys needed to help, so perk up those faces.” I leveled a stern glare at each of them. “Because you’re not getting out of this.”

They both sighed, shoulders sagging.  JC was the first to break the somber mood, clapping his hands together and plastering a fake but happy grin on his face. Tyler followed suit.

“Better,” I said, with a smile and a nod. I pointed toward the longest counter in the kitchen, where three balls of dough were evenly spaced and dusted with flour.  “So come over here to this counter. I’ll stand in the middle. You guys stand on either side and watch me. Do what I do. Get me?”

“Gotcha,” Tyler said, choosing the ball of dough to my left.

“Stop sucking up to the teacher,” JC whined at him over my head.

“Dude, if anyone has an advantage, it’s you,” Tyler shot back. Then to me, he said, “I expect a lot of extra help. Your boyfriend gets no special privileges.”

“Both of you shut up or I’ll make you do this more often. Okay. We’re gonna roll out the dough, so make sure your ball is all covered in flour.”

JC chuckled. “ Heheheheh, you said—“

“JC, I swear to God—“

“Okay, okay.  We’re covering our balls with flour.” He laughed again, this time to himself, digging into the flour gathered around his dough and covering it with a thick layer.

“How’m I doing? This good?” Tyler was more delicate, rolling his around, creating an even coating.

“Looks great, sweetie. Okay, we’re ready for our rolling pins, now.” I pointed at the rolling pins lined up against the wall in front of each of us. “Grab your pin and you’re going to coat this with flour, too.” I demonstrated, sprinkling a handful of flour over the smooth, oblong object and covering the length of it.  I watched them follow my lead, smirking to myself.  ‘Of course they’re pretty good at that. Rub a long, phallic shaped object? Not a problem.’

“Okay, let’s roll! Get it? Let’s roll?” My head bobbed between them, back and forth. Neither were laughing at my joke.

JC grimaced. “Honey, fair is fair, okay?  I can’t make ball jokes, you can’t make corny… rolling… ones. Alright? Geez.”

I sighed, returning to my project. “Whatever. Pat your dough down so it’s kind of flat, and then use the pin to start rolling toward the edge one way and then another. And when it starts sticking, you need more flour.”

It seemed to me that taking the Bar Exam required less concentration than Tyler was using on his ball of dough. His brows were so closely knit together that they looked like one long furry blonde line across a wrinkled forehead. His mouth twisted and his tongue caught between his lips, he slowly and methodically pushed his dough out, back and forth, around and around, until it resembled the end result- a pizza. The base of one, anyway.

Ever the artist, JC was taking his time. Almost smiling with contentment, he rolled his dough, lower and lower, further and further out, flatter and flatter until it was nearly paper-thin.

“Uhm… honey. I’m not picking on you, but…” I hesitated, then pushed on as he kept rolling his dough thinner and thinner. “Sweetie, your pizza won’t be able to hold your sauce and toppings if you make it too thin. It’ll cook fast but your toppings won’t cook—the cheese won’t even have melted before it burns.”

“I know what I’m doing,” he said. He nodded at me and then cocked a floury, doughy hand on his hip. “What’s next?”

“Flavor,” I answered, reach for a bowl and three cooking brushes. “The secret to my pizza crust is flavor.  I brush it with a mixture of olive oil and seasoning and then a little parmesan cheese. “

I demonstrated and watched them follow my motions, dipping the brush into the oil, brushing the edges of the dough, then sprinkling a generous amount of seasoning and powered parmesan cheese on top.

“Is this gonna puff up?” Tyler asked. I nodded, backing toward the refrigerator for our next ingredient. “Yep. JC’s might not because he insists on having a wafer with pizza toppings–”

“Don’t pick on my pizza. You can’t have any when it’s done.”

“Uhm, think again, mister.” I opened the refrigerator and gathered the contents that I’d prepared — sauce, vegetables, cheese—and set them between us.  “Now we come to the fun part—“

“More fun than playing in dough? Can’t wait.”

“It’s time to dress your pizza. You have sauce—a white alfredo kind of sauce and a red sauce—and some vegetables and some meat. It’s not California Pizza Kitchen, but then again, nothing is. That shit is not pizza.”

“Hey, hey,” Tyler protested. “CPK is good. It’s Allison’s favorite.”

“Of course it is,” I soothed. “She’s never had New York pizza. She’s very cute, though.”

Tyler pouted but went back to work.  I worked on my own pizza, spreading a thin layer of sauce and sprinkling a generous amount of cheese around the dough. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched them both make their own creations.

“So, who taught you how to cook, Serena?” JC was spreading his sauce evenly, swirling it around with the back of the spoon, creating scallop shapes along the edge. His flair always amazed me. He had to go the extra mile with everything.

“Well, I used to take cooking classes. That’s how I learned how to make that sweet and sour soup you like.” He smiled, his face lighting up with the memory. “Before that, I used to hang out in the kitchen with my mom and grandma. Though, they’re Russian by heritage so we made a lot of things with fattening sauces. Stroganoff and stuff like that.”

“Ooh. What do you call a cow playing with itself?” I shook my head at Tyler. “Beef Stroganoff. Get it? Strokinoff?”

JC reached around me and smacked Tyler across the back of the neck. “You just felt left out, didn’t you?”

“I guess,” he said, shrugging. “Is Stroganoff that stuff with like noodles and ground beef? With sour cream?” I nodded. “Can you make some? I mean…” He blushed, glancing down at his pizza, remembering that his demands for food got him into his current situation. “I guess I’ll help if you want…”

I laughed, randomly spreading ingredients around my pizza. “It’s fine, Ty. I really just thought you guys would have fun doing this. It’s good family bonding time.”

“That, and ‘cause Tyler was demanding homemade pizza.”

“And someone was behind him, agreeing.” I eyed our three pies. Three balls of dough that had started at the same size and the same shape were now vastly different. Tyler’s was a traditional white pizza with alfredo sauce, diced chicken breast, mushrooms and cheese.  JC’s thin crust, light sauce pizza had just about everything on it. He really, really liked pizza. Mine was the plainest. Sauce, cheese, sausage, and a few vegetables, but at least I arranged them in a smiley face.  “I think we’re ready to bake.”

The oven, which had been preheating during our preparation, was already a steaming 425 degrees. One by one, our pans slid onto the racks. I closed the door and set the timer and, for entertainment, flipped the switch and turned on the light.

“It’ll take a few minutes before the dough will start rising, but you can watch it bake if you like.”  Like moths to a flame, both men were drawn to the light pouring out of the front of the oven. They stood there, arms crossed, waiting. “Except a watched pot never boils,” I said, giggling. “Give it a few minutes, I said.”

I grabbed the garbage can from under the sink and began sweeping flour and discarded dough into it. Without being asked or complaining even, the brothers turned around and began to help. The containers holding the pizza toppings and sauces were lidded and put back into the refrigerator. The rolling pins went into the dishwasher. The counter was wiped down, clean and free of flour.

“Look! It’s rising!” Tyler’s voice was so high he was squealing, staring into the oven. The aroma of garlic and oregano and my homemade sauce, mixing with cheese and sausage and pepperoni was delightful. My stomach growled in anticipation. Watching them stand in front of the oven and keep guard over their pies, my heart filled with a warm, comfortable feeling. I think it’s called Happy.

During the last few minutes of baking, I set the dining room table with places for 3, a green salad, and cold beers in reward for their efforts.  When the buzzer sounded, they stepped back and let me pull the pizzas out of the oven. I set them on the counter to cool, then handed them each a pizza wheel.

“Slice it up, boys,” I ordered with a grin. My hands on my hips, I had a proud mama moment as each of them sliced into their creations and carried them to the table.

“Sweetie, sit down,” JC ordered, pulling my chair out and already serving me a slice of his pizza. “Look at that. Thin crust, just enough sauce, lots of topping, a bit of cheese to hold it together. Taste that. Tell me it’s not genius.” He plopped into his chair with pride.

“Not to be outdone,” said Tyler, proudly loading me up with a giant slice. “My pizza has a perfect crust to soak up the alfredo sauce.  Lots of cheese and hot, fresh chicken will make this the best pizza you ever ate.”

I beamed, serving them each a piece of mine. “So, taste it. Let me know how you did.”  They sat, staring at the triangles on their plates. And then stared at me.  “What? You think it’s poisoned? Try it!”

Gingerly, they picked up a slice and took a tentative bite, chewing slowly. And then nodded, and then smiled across the table at each other.

“We cooked, dude!” JC said, holding up a fist to Tyler. His brother bumped it, taking another huge bite.  “It’s good,” he agreed with a full mouth. “Lemme taste yours.”

I don’t think either of them noticed that I wasn’t eating, but watching them. Talking, eating, sharing ‘secret’ techniques, eating some more, serving each other plates of salad and congratulating each other on jobs well done. You’d think they painted the Sistine, not made a pizza, but neither admitted to being able to remember the last time they cooked. Eventually I joined in, a smug sense of satisfaction behind my smile.

“This was fun,” JC said an hour later, closing the dishwasher drawer. The kitchen was spotless, the table was cleared, and I was being pushed out of the kitchen and toward the den. “What are we making next week?”

Et voila! I actually found out about this Fest kind of late so it’s not my best best work but I wanted to participate. So there we are! My next piece, I think is for the Flirt Fest and I’ve been working on that one for about a week.

A couple of fests that I’ve signed up for (more to be added):

May 1st- 50 Followers Baking Blogfest, hosted by Charity Bradford

Write a scene where your MC bakes something, anything, good, bad, yummy, burned, anything. Have fun with it, and post it on your blog on May 1st. Bake in space, for a first date, as a cave man/woman, I don’t care. Find a way to incorporate a cooking scene into your wip.

★ May 16th- Flirt Fest Blogfest, hosted by Critique_This_WIP

On Sunday, May 16, 2010 post your favorite flirty scene, either from one of your WIPs, or a brand new one you’ve written just for this blogfest. It can range anywhere from sweet to hot, and any genre is fair game…you don’t have to be a romance writer to participate!

★ May 18th- The “Let’s Talk” Blogfest, hosted by Roni Griffin

On Tuesday May 18, post a short excerpt on your blog of your most sparkly dialogue scene (no, I’m not talking about Edward Cullen).  It can be anything dialogue-heavy–a laid-back chat, an all out argument, a flirty conversation, two friends ribbing each other–whatever.  The options are endless.

Still looking through the list… basically if an idea doesn’t come to me as I am reading the description, I am skipping it. I can’t really ‘make’ myself do these things. I have to be inspired. So far, I am inspired! I’ve already written my Flirt Fest entry and it is being read and critiqued. I’ll continue to edit and perfect until I have to post it.

I’ll try to get to the 50 followers Baking Fest this week. I will be flying to NC for work this week so perhaps I’ll have some time on the plane. If not, I’ll be at a hotel. Wednesday night and flight time Thursday as well to write and have people read it. It’ll probably be fan fic, since I sort of had a scene in mind along that route anyway and I might use it later.

For the Lets Talk Fest, my idea is pretty vague at the moment but I might have something already written that I could submit. I’m pretty good at dialogue so I think that one will be a fun project that won’t make me want to toss the laptop across the room.