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Time Waster …aka Managing the Easily Distracted Mind

I hadn’t realized until recently that I have the attention span of a flea. Why didn’t I notice it?  I was distracted.

 As I sit at my desktop, pounding away on the keyboard what I hope will entertain anyone who reads it, I find myself drifting …a quick glance out the window to spy on the neighbors or I look to my other side where I have a hutch full of crystal wineglasses.   I should keep on writing while the mojo is going…but in an insincere moment of imaginary-housewifedom, I decide the better choice is to get off my ass and take out all the crystal and hand wash them.  They’re dusty and don’t have the sparkle they deserve.  Mind you, they haven’t sparkled for months. I don’t use any of these glasses.  I insisted I needed them as an engagement gift, you know, so I could set the table for all the fancy dinners I was planning to have. 

 (To those who aren’t married yet, I’m going to give you a free life lesson: You will never have those parties.  I can count on both hands how many times I’ve used the crystal wine, water and champagne glasses, along with the ‘good china’ I had to have.  You want the cheap stuff, the stuff you don’t care about when your husband’s idiot of a best friend drops it on the floor. Trust me on this one…and you’re welcome.)

 Lately my distraction has been all about facebook.  It took me forever to kick my Farmville addiction (honestly I did have one hell of a fancy farm).  I’d plan my day around what time I had to pick my corn and plant roses. I made sure each farm animal wasn’t crushed in their pens…you know, like they were real breathing farm animals. I owned reindeer…how cool is that? Much unlike my real life, my farm was neat and orderly.   I crossed the sanity line.  I’d have long conversations with my mother (another proud farmer) over our vast farmlands and how beautifully they were decorated.  It was sad, just sad.

Like I said, I finally realized that I had to stop cold turkey.  And it was painful.  I knew my flowers were wilting and my corn was turning brown. I wanted to look.  I wanted to feed my poor hungry chickens. But I stayed strong. I stopped over a year ago and to this day, I can’t visit the ol’ farm…it’s much too painful.

When I decided to go for it and write a book, I was on a roll.  I was a writing machine.  Words were coming so easily… Clever, clever words.  Oh, I was quite the wordsmith.  That didn’t last too long.  Once again, my attention span got in the way of creativity.  Damn facebook again.  I’d get through a paragraph then reward myself with a quick peek on my newsfeed.  Little by little, the rewards were given for lesser achievements.  A sentence.  A word.  A space.

Facebook, Twitter and various gossip websites were ruling my life and sucking out my inspiration… A complete time waster.

Hello, My name is Annette.

I’m a  procrastinator and Social Mediaholic.

 I thought long and hard (<—another one of my issues, immature dirty mind) about how I was going to escape my obsession and actually do what I set out to do when I powered up my desktop… Write.

I’ve deactivated my facebook page temporarily before.  The trouble is, you can easily reactivate it by simply typing in your email and password.  I’d accidentally (I swear that’s the truth) log back in all the time and have to deactivate it again (of course after I perused my newsfeed first)

Desperate times call for desperate measures.  I called in for reinforcements.  My husband. I couldn’t believe what I was about to request, but it had to be done. Here’s how it went down.

 “Change my password and don’t tell me what it is.” I signed into my facebook account and handed the tablet to him.

 “Seriously?” He frowns.

 “Yes, I’m weak.”

 “You’re not going to text me all day while I’m at work asking for it, are you?”

 “No. And if I do ask for it, you can’t give it to me.”

 “How will I know when you really need it back?”

 “Oh, I didn’t think of that. I don’t know.  You’ll have to figure it out.”

 “I’m in a no win situation here, you know that.”

 “Yes, now change it.”

 

I turned my head and poof!  New password.  I can no longer access facebook at will. My husband holds the key.  I gave him all the power. He decides when I can go on facebook and I obey. I just made him my social media Dom. Holy crap, I’ve unintentionally entered into a D/s social media relationship. All this Fifty Shades of Grey fanfiction writing has infiltrated my real life.

I’m going to have to ponder this for a while; I think I just blew my mind.

 

You’d think having no facebook access would give me some relief, but what I wasn’t expecting was my paranoia to sink in.  What am I missing?  What if they’re talking about me?  They probably are.  They definitely are.  What are they saying?  Is it mean?  Why are they saying mean things about me?  You get the picture.

Come to think of it, if anyone reads this blog entry,  they’ll know I can’t see my facebook page. They’re probably going to litter my facebook page with taunts, knowing I won’t have the ability to respond. There’s no way I can win this.

 But I am keeping to my word, until I get a respectable amount of writing accomplished.  Today, I was allowed a little facebook time.  I had to look the other way when he entered the password. It was wonderful. Wonderful!

So, now I’m spoon-fed small morsels of facebook.  I’m still working on my gossip site addiction (Cut me some slack, Rome wasn’t build in a day). But I’m heading in the right direction. I’ll pour myself a glass of wine (or two) and wait for the brilliance to pour out into my keyboard.

 

 

Evil Chapter Nine

I have a new arch nemesis.  Chapter Nine.  For three long weeks I have been writing this damn chapter.  It’s a bitch of a fighter.  This isn’t a case of writers block.  I know what I want to write.  I see it.  It’s all playing out in my head, clear as a sunny day.  I just can’t seem to get the words to leave my head and transfer onto the Word document.  Chapter Nine won’t allow it to happen.  I’ll pound a sentence out on my keyboard then… nothing.  Nada.  Zilch.  The big Zippo.  It’s frustrating the hell out of me.

I really don’t understand why it’s so hard.  It’s a fun chapter to write.  Honestly, all of the chapters have been fun to write…some more stubborn than others, but fun nonetheless. I like my characters, well most of them.  I like their friends.  I wish they were real so I could hang out and have a couple of drinks with them.

I tend to write the same sentence fifty different ways until I like the way it sounds.  I’m not a stickler for proper grammar if the dialogue sounds like normal people talking.  I like to play with words, flip them around and make it feel right.  Flip them one way…eh, maybe I’ll flip them another way and see how that flows…you get the idea.  Maybe I’m an over-flipper.

I’m at the point now where I feel like flipping off Evil Chapter Nine.

 Funny thing is, chapter ten, eleven and so on are written… they need editing, but they’re done for the most part. Hell, the ending is written. They’re patiently waiting on this chapter so they can get prettied up and move forward.

My goal is to finish Evil Chapter Nine today. Of course, I’m already procrastinating by writing this blog entry.  When my book is finally published (do you hear the angels singing?) and if you are so inclined to read it (of course you are)…take special notice of Evil Chapter Nine.

 The Chapter that tried to do me in.

 On a side note, some of you may be wondering what happened to Shelly…my Muse.  The one thing I could count on to inspire me and help me through these tough times.  Well, Shelly’s been sleeping on the job.  It ends up Shelly is a lazy little whore, living in a hedonistic threesome with another shell and a starfish.

Image

 I’m on my own once again.

Choosing a Character’s Name…or Why I Wish I Were an Only Child

In the first book I’m writing I had to go through the inevitable process of choosing the characters names. It seemed easy enough.  Google baby names and chose one that fits the character.

Not quite.

First a little background about me.  I come from a very large family.  Seems my parents were very fond of each other.  Very.  As we grew into adults and had our own families, all the decent names in the baby books were taken.

My younger sister in particular stole all the good girl names.    I was really leaning toward Gabriella as the heroine’s name.  Pretty, European…you can say Gabby when you’re informal.   It could be sexy one minute, then playful the next. The perfect name.

Until you write a sex scene.

The feeling of ick overwhelmed me. I couldn’t write my sweet innocent niece’s name into a sex scene.  It was wrong.  It was so wrong…and not in a good way, wrong.  A total turn off for me.

I spent the rest of the day back to square one…googling girl’s names until I found one that had no direct relation to me.

It wasn’t any easier when choosing the lead male’s name.  I had to cross out my brother’s and brother in law’s names immediately.  Then move on to cousins.  Then to ex-boyfriends (I’m not giving any of them the satisfaction of making it into print in my book)

I finally chose two names that I’m fairly certain have no personal relationship with me.  At least I hope they don’t.

So my characters can happily have all the sex they want, if they chose…now that they’re strangers to me.

When I started this project, I thought the hard part was going to be the story itself, developing the characters, the plot, the conflict, a resolution…there’s a  million directions your thoughts are pulled when writing a story.

But it looks like I’m going obsess over every minute detail.   And that’s okay with me.