Bright and Shinies

Before I turn you over to today’s post, I wanted to get in a quick word (or forty). I’m guestblogging today with the Southern Authors (click HERE). I’d love it if you’d pop over and visit…I’m talking about characters and their nasty little habit of taking a story over.

I’m also leaving you in good hands on this blog. Here’s Lynn (you see her in the comment section most days), so make her feel welcome, okay?

~Elizabeth

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I like finding shells on the beach. And new yarn that feels so soft you could float into the bin. And pennies on the street.

Bright and shiny things distract me.

If you looked around my house, you’d find at least four, maybe five, craft projects sitting around in various stages of completion. And that’s without opening any of the boxes in the basement. My to-be-read pile has books that I started years ago yet sit unfinished, a receipt or slip of paper or even a real bookmark keeping my place for when I pick up the story once again.

Okay, maybe I’m distracted–a lot. This is great for a jack-of-all-trades or a renaissance wo(man), but not so much for a writer. Two years ago, I had four manuscripts started. A romance, a cozy mystery, a middle-school paranormal, and a suspense thriller filled my hard drive…right upt to chapter five, where I lost steam and lost my way. So I’d stop writing. The muse would abandon me after a few weeks.

Then I’d get an idea for the perfect book. I could write this (fill in the blank) genre, no problem. And I was right…

Right up until chapter five.

Then nothing.

I’d whine. I’d complain about my useless muse. I’d immerse myself in how-to-write books.

Then I met a real writer. Face to face, I got up the courage to ask her what was the secret to finishing a book. How would I known what type of book I could really write? And the secret grail I’d been seeking? The answer to all my problems–writing wise, that is? The magic pill?

“Just finish the book. Write crap. Write your mother’s secret recipes. Write love letters to your characters. Just finish a book.”

“But which one,” I whined (I think I should have been eating cheese for lunch that day).

“The one that you’re most passionate about,” the wise sage answered.

So I went back to the last book I’d attempted. I read what I’d written. And then I wrote one scene. Total crap, but it was words on the page. The next day I sat down again. Wrote another scene. I promised myself I would write thirty minutes a day even if it was bottom-of-the-barrel political drivel, which, surprisingly enough, it wasn’t.

Then came the dreaded middle. Where your characters are just sitting, waiting to do laundry or wasth their hair while they wait for you to think up some amazing adventure to send them on.

That was the day the bright and shiny’s came back. In Heather Sellers’ book, Chapter by Chapter, she calls them “The Fresh Start Sirens.” Their call is quiet at first. Then all of a sudden, I found myself thinking about the next book. A paranormal. The characters who would love me and tell me their story, not wawit around for me to write it. This book would be easy. Just like finding a new love when your old one just can’t learn to put the seat down in the middle of the night after using the bathroom. So I flirted.

Soon, I was in full fledge love. I emailed the wise sage and told her I’d found my problem. I was writing the wrong book.

She laughted. And after she got off the floor and composed herself, she sent me back to my manuscript, with three words: “Finish the book.”

Two books later, I’ll admit, she was right. Being a writer takes a level of commitment I didn’t know I had. I have a contract with a mansucript I’m writing. If I finish the first draft and two rounds of edits and still hate it? I can put it under the bed. But I have to finish it. Good, bad, or ugly, the story deserves to be told.

Can I tell you I don’t flirt or wander anymore? No. But I choose my guilty pleasures carefully. I just took a break from the cozy mystery (I’m four to five chapters from typing, THE END). I started a short story that I’d plotted and knew would distract me from doing the I’m not worthy dance around my manuscript (the closer I get to finishing a manuscript, the more writer-insecurities tend to pop in my head).

I wrote for less than ten days on this story, sent it to a magazine, and sold it within days of finishing. Good news? Yes. But the validation from the sale made me hungry to finish the cozy. So the distraction worked.

This time.

Now, if I can just keep from starting a new craft project before I finish my Easter basket (and yes, I know that Easter was four weeks ago…).

Lynn Cahoon’s work has appeared in Grit, Chicken Soup for the Soul, True Romance, and soon, True Love. She is currently polishing two romance novels, working on a cozy mystery, and waiting for a call from the slush pile. She lives in the St. Louis area with her husband.

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