Today I’m leaving for the beautiful north Georgia mountains to hang out with my fellow BQP pals Vicki Lewis Thompson and Jennifer LaBrecque.    Though my dh and kids think this is just a convenient excuse for me to hang out with my writer friends and have fun–which we do–it’s still work.  We brainstorm, plot and career plan the entire time we’re together and the dynamic seems to really create some good stuff.  (I plotted the book I just finished at our November get-together and that puppy went much smoother as a result.  Precious has put her stamp of approval on it already–minor revisions, no major overhauling so I am breathing a HUGE sigh of relief.) 

Anyway, I hope everyone has a wonderful weekend (I know I will) and I’ll fill you in when I get back.   

You will hear no whines from me today.

The book is DONE.  

Naturally, I will have revisions, but Precious always makes me look better than I actually am, so no worries there.  I’m sure there are a few problems that my fried brain has overlooked, but she is magnificent and wonderful and she will find them.  I hesitate to say this because I don’t want to jinx it, but…I think this is a strong story.  I have absolutely LOVED these characters.  Their story has been an absolute joy, all tiredness aside.  (And my arm is hurting like you wouldn’t believe, even four motrin later.)

So.  Now I am going to bed.  You people whine on and I’ll join you later.

Today is the day that every writer lives for–the end of the book.  Typing those two powerful little words that signifies you have finished.  You have fought the dragon and won.  You have overcome bad hair, contrived plot twists and sloppy dialogue.  Your hero and heroine have overcome every possible obstacle that you have thrown in their path and they will not only produce beautiful children and he will not only forever love only her and think she is the most magnificent thing in the world even when she’s PMS’ing, but they will get their Happily Ever After.  The writer will shave her legs, make gradiose plans for what she’s going to do now that the book is off her desk, and call people whom suspect she’s fallen off the planet. 

Starting with her editor the instant she types “The End.”     Today.  Really.

There are many things that happen when I’m on deadline.  Personal grooming falls by the wayside.  House becomes a pit.  Laundry breeds.  The slightest little noise–which might interrupt that magical kernal of dialogue that will unlock certain plot secrets–will cause me to rant and scream at whomever or whatever made the noise.  (Examples include the phone and dog.) 

But last night, I confess, was the first time that I’ve had Deadline Temper. 

What is that, you wonder?  It’s where the author freaks out and pitches a tantrum because her husband had the audacity to bring home a Burger King cheeseburger instead of the one from Jack’s like she’d asked him.  What is the difference between a Burger King burger and a Jack’s burger?  Last night they were WORLDS apart.  The author didn’t want a charbroiled burger.  She didn’t like Burger King’s fries.  She wanted a REAL burger from Jack’s and CRINKLE CUT fries, otherwise she wouldn’t have specified that her dinner come from JACK’S.

This morning a burger is a burger and she’s just as baffled at her behavior as her poor husband was last night.

“You’re almost finished with this one, aren’t you?” he’d asked after I’d calmed down.

“Yes.”

Longsuffering sigh.  “Thank God.” 

Dear Author,

       How could you do this to me?  How could you make me fall in love with a guy who has so much testosterone that it’s hardened his heart?  What the hell were you thinking?  This is a romance novel.  I’m supposed to get my guy.  I’m supposed to have a happily-ever-after!  If you’re going to pull a coup, or somehow take charge once again, I would appreciate it if you would hurry up.  My nerves can’t take much more of this.    And if I’m not pregnant and on the road to having a big family in the epilogue, heads are gonna roll, sister.  Get crackin’, dammit.  Make him fall in love with me!

     Humph!

     Annoyed but hopeful,

     The Heroine

Dear Hero,

     In the beginning your serious fear of commitment was rather fun.  You likened brides to big white spiders waiting in a web of tulle to trap unsuspecting ball-less grooms.  You shuddered at the mere thought of going into the heroine’s bridal shoppe.  You almost broke out in hives when confronted with anything romantic and even remotely associated with til-death-do-us-part.  In short, in the beginning, this was rather entertaining.  I thought it would be huge fun to make you fall for the heroine and do everything you swore you would never do.  The whole the bigger they are, the harder they fall adage.

     Unfortunately, we are nearing the end our journey and you have yet to come around appropriately.  You aren’t behaving as I imagined you would, expected you to, or planned. 

      This, I am sure, is a result of you being a man. 

      I am not worried, though, because as the author, I am the mistress of your destiny and you will act accordingly.  This is a romance novel and you are a romance novel hero.  Further resistance to falling in love will not be tolerated.  Consider yourself warned…

Sincerely,

The Author