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Writer’s Block

The bane of every writer’s existence.  i don’t even like to say the words out loud.  It makes it seem a lot more real.  But the truth is, it is very real and it hits everyone who writes.

I get stuck sometimes.  When what’s in my head doesn’t come out right on the page.  Or worse, when what I’m working on has no words at all.  When I stare at the page, reading where I left off, and I’ve got nothing to add to it.  I hate that feeling the most.  Because there are thousands of thoughts in my head and why can’t I seem to make anything at all make sense?  It’s like a pain in my stomach.  It’s like it’s physically painful when I can’t write; not because I don’t have the time or I’m busy with something else, but because there are no words.

The best advice I’ve ever gotten is just to write anyway.  It doesn’t matter what.  Just write.  It could be complete and totally crap, but write anyway.  Get something on the page.  And usually, when I do that, it’s like my writer’s block is forcibly broken.  I might not actually keep a single word that I put down, but better things flow through the hole I made in the block and then, when the force gets stronger, it breaks that block apart and I can write again.  Sometimes it happens all at once, like a dam breaking.  And sometimes it’s a slow process, a little at at time, until the block is completely worn away.

I was suffering from a the block for the last week.  And everything I wrote was awful and I couldn’t keep anything I wrote.  And it was making my stomach hurt.  But I kept writing anyway.  And then, it all broke free and the words were ones I actually wanted to keep.  That progressed the story along and actually made sense.

So that’s the advice I pass on to you.  Write anyway.  It doesn’t matter if it’s the worst thing in the history of all the world.  Get words on the page.  And when you’re done, more and better words will come.

Flash Fic Friday

Flash Fic Friday

“He looks ridiculous and I feel guilty as hell,” I muttered into the phone as we entered the yard.  I had gotten it into my head that now that I was a home owner, I had to have a dog in order to complete the picture.  The gate swung closed with a creak behind me, nearly drowning out my mother’s throaty chuckle.

“Its part of being a responsible pet owner,” she said gently.  “Rufus doesn’t care that he’s been neutered.”
“I care, Ma!” I shouted.  The neighbor startled at my loudness but I waved a hand and returned my attention to my conversation, my voice a little quieter, “I took him to that place and they hacked off his balls!”
She laughed again.  My mother was awesome.  When I had come out, she’d barely blinked an eye.  When I had told her I was moving out and into my own home, she’d cried like a baby and helped me pack.
“Casey, honey, I promise.  Your dog really doesn’t care.  You only do because you’re thinking how you would feel if it happened to you.”
I gave an involuntary yelp and covered my crotch with my free hand, letting Rufus’s lead fall from my hand.  There was a second of panic that he was free, but the yard was fenced and the gate was closed.  He set about sniffing the yard, trying to see around the cone.  I had to laugh at his antics and that settled some of my feelings.  I hung up with my mother with a smile and turned to find Rufus.
The neighbor was still staring into the yard and I realized I still had my hand cupped over my groin.  I dropped my hand quickly and turned about seventy shades of red.  He grinned and I nearly groaned.  Oh he was pretty.  How had I not noticed him before?  I knew he had just moved in but…damn.  He was beautiful.
“Cute dog,” the neighbor called.
I nodded and muttered, “He’s got no balls.”
Pretty neighbor let out a raucous laugh and I felt the embarrassment sweep up my neck again.  Jesus, what was wrong with me?  Faced with a beautiful man and suddenly I lost my filter.
“You still have yours though, right?” he called with a salacious grin.
What?  I choked.  “What?”
He chuckled.  “Maybe you should let me come over and make sure that yours are still intact, hm?”
Oh.  Oh yes.  Yes please.  I grinned and picked up Rufus’s lead, walking back to the house with a little extra wiggle in my hips.  I left the front door wide open.
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The Beginning

Okay.  See, it all started with Creative Writing.  I don’t remember much else about 5th grade.  Except we spent an extraordinary amount of time writing.  And the praise.  I definitely remember the praise.  Yeah, I got kudos.  But I was reading far beyond my grade level so it just makes sense that I would write that way as well.  I was writing love stories even then.  Girl meets boy and love happens.  And I knew, even then, that I wanted to be an author.  That’s how I was going to make my living.  But, of course, life and insecurities got in the way.  And though I wrote and wrote and wrote (because I must write) I barely even showed it to people, let alone sent it in for consideration.

And then I found gay romance and I was hooked.  It felt like I finally understood what I was meant to write.  And the stories started pouring into my brain, the plot bunnies were running wild, and there was no way I could stop them.  So, I wrote some more.  And got feedback from people who didn’t already love me to bits and pieces.  My confidence grew and I was finally brave enough to submit a story to Dreamspinner Press.  It’s my first published work and I’m over the moon excited about it.  These are my boys and this is their story.  And it’s going to be out there for people to read and, hopefully, enjoy.

Here’s what you can expect if you keep dropping by: updates about any current WIPs and new releases, Flash Fic Fridays (which is what it sounds like), and musings about the inner workings of my mind and writing process.  I’m not going to lie, there will probably be some other random things thrown in as well.  But here’s where you can get the updates.

If you’re here, it means you took the time to look me up and for that, I am so exceedingly appreciative.  I love to hear feedback and you can find my contact info at the top of the page.  Feel free to drop me a line and I promise to respond.