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At some point in every novel, it consumes me. I start living in my character’s heads and the world I’ve created for them. While I’m making coffee, I’m thinking about how to write a certain scene. When I’m taking a shower, I’m thinking about how my character would react if this or that happened.

Conversations with my husband go like this:

DH: Hey did you see that some of our little pine trees are going brown. They might even be dying.

Me: Nahuh.

DH: I think it might be a tree disease. Maybe we should call in a specialist.

Me: Nahuh.

DH: And then aliens landed in the front yard, took off their pants and did a dance!

Me: Nahah.

I start dazing into space and wandering around the house putting the milk in the cabinet and the coffee in the fridge. I go to bed with sheafs of paper and my (special) ball point pen. In the morning I find I fell asleep on it all and now have ink marks on the sheets, my legs and my arms. (Sadly, all these things really have happened.)

That’s where I am with Witch Heart right now, the third book in my Elemental Witches series. I’ve hit my stride. I’ve got a firm handle on my characters and the plot is progressing nicely. I’m at that point where I’m consumed.

Christmas, what’s that? Good thing I’ve almost got all my shopping done. Housework? Pbbbtbwhahaha.

My hero is particularly fun to write. He’s a secondary in Witch Blood, so I already had a pretty good grip on his personality and backstory. Adam is fun to write because his personality isn’t a whole lot different from mine. When I’m in his head it feels sort of comfortable. Odd, since he’s a guy (and a guy’s guy, too), but there you have it. There’s no logic to this stuff.

So, anyway, Witch Heart is officially eating my brain (and I wouldn’t have it any other way).

What are some activities in your life that consume you? Something that makes you forget to eat and sleep and drives you to distraction?

You have to nail the sensuality of it. The slow glide, lip to lip. The taste of each other’s mouth. The scent of their skin. The slip of tongue against tongue that sends tremors of want through them both. The twining of their breath, a little bit of their souls. How to get it exactly right… What are their hands doing? Are his hands at the small of her back, holding her flush against his chest? Are hers curled into the fabric of his shirt at his shoulders?

It makes me crazy getting the details straight.

As you might be able to tell, I’m writing a first kiss scene right now. I’ve rewritten it several times.

Not holding this one up as an example of a good kiss scene (I’m waaay too critical of my writing to ever think that), but I do like this one in Water Crystal (Ellora’s Cave).

~*~

Excerpt from Water Crystal, by Anya Bast (Copyright 2008, all rights reserved)

The room was empty save for the two of them. Steam billowed from the surface of one filled tub. To its right side stood a shelf containing shampoo and soap. On the other side stood a rack of large towels.

Angelo uncuffed her and turned to leave, but hesitated at the door. “Let me check the boards on these windows, Bianca.” He went around the room, making sure the windows were nailed tight enough that she couldn’t pry them off.

“I’m not going to try and escape,” she said.

He turned and gave her a look of disbelief. “After what you pulled at Hank’s, am I supposed to believe that?”
“Angelo, I swear. I’m much safer with you than without you at this point.”

“I agree with you for the first time since we met.”

“The water’s getting cold,” she complained.

“Just give me a few more minutes, okay?”

She gave him that sly, secret smile that was fast becoming her trademark. That smile meant she was up to something. “Well, if you won’t leave me alone, I guess I’ll just have bathe with you in the room.”

Before he had a chance to protest, she unbuttoned her pants and sent them sliding down her legs to pool at her feet. Shapely calves flowing into strong, beautiful thighs met his view. Above that was a peek of blue material under her shirt, blue cotton with tiny, faded red roses.

She kicked her pants away with one slim foot and the smooth muscles of her legs rippled. He couldn’t look away from her. Damn, he couldn’t even move. There it was again—that tightness in his body, settling in his groin. He hated that she had such power over him. He hated it even more that she knew she had that power over him.

Her hands went to the bottom of her shirt, as she prepared to slide it up over her head. Her flat abdomen came into view.
His paralysis broke and he went to her in four fast strides. He caught her hands and pushed them down, forcing her shirt back into place. She looked pleased with herself. Too damned pleased. She knew that she had the upper hand, and that she could bring him to his knees if she tried hard enough. He knew it and so did she.

Playing with fire, that’s what Bianca loved to do…but she could she handle the inferno once it was started? Angelo doubted it. Maybe it was time to turn the tables. Maybe it was time to push her buttons and reveal the truth at the same time.
Winding one arm around her waist so she couldn’t step away from him, he caught her chin in his fingers and tipped her face to his. “Are you going to be ready for me, Bianca, when I finally call your bluff?”

She looked uncertain for a moment. That same raw look of innocence wounded crossed her features. A fake smile flickered across her face. “Bluff? What do you mean?”

He drew his thumb over her lower lip. It was soft and smooth. He couldn’t help but think about how her mouth was going to feel under his, so lush, warm and wet.

“This is what I mean.” He lowered his face toward hers, and he felt her stiffen.

“Look, I’m sorry I teased.” She snaked her hand between them. Her palm pressed against his chest. “This is a bad idea, Angelo,” she whispered so low he almost couldn’t hear her.

He nodded his head slightly, his intent gaze on her lips. “It’s the worst idea I ever had.” He drew his hand from her chin to the base of her spine, and then pressed her into him while his mouth descended on hers.

Her lips were unmoving at first and then her body relaxed, curving to fit him perfectly. Her mouth moved under his, returning his kiss with a sudden urgency. He coaxed her lips apart and let his tongue explore within.

Her hands came up tentatively, fluttering against his arms as though she was unsure what to do with them. She finally curled the fingers of one hand into the hair at the nape of his neck. The other she pressed tight against the back of his shoulder. It almost seemed as though she was willing more of him against her.

Her tongue found his and moved against it artlessly. Her inexperienced strokes simply served to stoke the fire that was already burning hot and high within him. All his resolve about staying celibate dissolved like sugar stirred into water at the press of her lips and tongue against his.

He brought a hand around and cupped one small breast, brushing his thumb back and forth over her erect nipple through the material of her T-shirt. She moaned deep in her throat and arched into him. Reveling in the feel of her taut breast pushing against the thin fabric, he pressed his hard cock against her so she could feel what she was doing to him, and how much he wanted her.
She pulled away a little, gasped, looked surprised for a moment, then smiled and sealed her mouth back on his with a new urgency.

He found the edge of her T-shirt and pushed his hand under it to caress the skin of her lower back. She felt firm and warm. He let his hand roam down, finding hot, aroused pussy and cupping it. She’d creamed nicely for him. He could feel the dampness through the thin bit of material. He wanted to push aside her underwear and slide his finger up inside her but he resisted. He wanted so much more than she was going to be able to give him. His body ached with the desire to lower her to the floor and help her discover all the ways a man and woman could find pleasure together, because for all her teasing she didn’t know.

He’d been right all along about her. The truth of it was in her kiss. It had been in her innocent desire the night before.
Then he couldn’t stand it any longer, when his body shook from the need to explore the creamy folds of her bared sex, he eased his hand up her thigh and slid between them.

Bianca made a low, satisfied sound in her throat and spread her legs to give him better access. He pushed the material away and dragged his fingers over her sex. He shuddered, remembering how good she’d tasted the night before, how sweetly she’d shattered for him not once, but twice.

Angelo slanted his mouth over her and hungrily sank his tongue into her hot mouth over and over, trying to consume her. She whimpered against his lips and his cock twitched.

He teased and stroked her clit until her breath came faster and her body tensed, then he slid first one finger up inside her hot little sex, then added a second. He worked them in and out of her, still kissing her deeply, until her interior muscles spasmed and her cream gushed out as she came. He caught all her soft cries against his tongue. It hadn’t taken long to make her climax. She seemed hot and eager for sexual experience.

She groaned deeply into his mouth, catching and gently dragging his lower lip between her small white teeth. Angelo’s whole body shook. He was so close to throwing her down and fucking her until she couldn’t see straight.

But he couldn’t do that.

And she wasn’t ready for it anyway.

Suppressing a groan of frustration, he released her and backed away.

He looked at her and couldn’t help but smile. Now who had the upper hand? It had nearly killed him to get it, but he’d savor it while he had it.

3 cups mashed yams
1/2 cup sugar
2 eggs, beaten
3/4 cup melted butter, divided
1/4 cup evaporated milk
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1/4 cup all-purpose flour
1 cup firmly packed brown sugar
1/4 cup chopped nuts

Combine yams, sugar, eggs, 1/4 cup butter, milk and vanilla; beat well. Spread mixture in casserole. Combine 1/2 cup butter, flour, brown sugar and nuts; sprinkle over sweet potato mixture. Bake at 350 for 35 to 40 minutes.

Recently I’ve been hearing stories about writers doing rash things when they’ve been unable to sell their work. Quitting forever (is a popular one), but some people even hurt themselves physically over what they perceive as a failure. (I use the word perceive because I have a much different definition of failure than most people.)

On the happy flip side of this, one of my dear friends Lauren Dane has sold two books to Berkley Heat recently! I have watched her from the beginning, before she sold to Ellora’s Cave. Over the years I’ve observed her unwillingness to never give up, even when she thought things looked their darkest.
It took me ten years to sell my first book. During that time, I endured a bad agent relationship, and amassed enough rejection letters to wallpaper two rooms. I even I did quit “forever” once. I meant it, too, and didn’t write again for three years until I realized I was being dumb and I should be doing the one thing I loved, regardless of whether or not I sold. Once I started writing purely because I loved it, that’s when everything fell into place for me.

Of course we want to sell to publishers. Writers don’t want to exist in a vacuum. We want to share our words and worlds with other people.  That’s why we don’t simply just write for the joy of it and simply slip our finished product under the bed. We write for the the joy of it and try to sell that work to the world to read. And it’s a hard sell in most cases. Sure, once in a while you read about someone who never had to struggle, (and secretly we hate them. Heh.), but most of the time it takes years of blood, sweat, and commitment to finally break in.

It’s the result of art meeting commerce. It’s an uneasy match most times, and heartbreaking for those who have produced art that isn’t marketable.

The bottom line is that to pursue this path, you must have perseverance. Perseverance is not a guarantee that you will eventually sell, but without perseverance odds are you won’t. Writing is not an easy career path. Choose it because you love to write. Don’t choose it because you think you’re going to make a lot of money. You probably won’t. Choose this path because you love the “work” and, above all, persevere.

If you can keep an image in your mind of who you want to be and work toward making it real, chances are that, (with some stumblings and a few confusions here and there), you’ll succeed. It might take you ten years or longer, but you’ll eventually make a break.

Can you tell me about one time you really had to get your perseverance on?  How did you manage it?

1. How is it some people can get so wrapped up in TV show fandoms that they sound like they think it’s all real. Also, isn’t there more important things to get so worked up over?

1. Homophobia. Gah! Such a frustrating mystery to me.

1. How it is that Cute Overload has reached in and possessed a chunk of my soul.

1. How they could have thought it was a good idea to cancel Dead Like Me or Firefly.

1. Star fruit is always on sale in the produce section, but who actually buys and eats it?

1. Pork rinds. Can we just not?

1. How I can alternate between Zen Buddhist calm and all out anxiety with no middle ground.

1. How in the middle of the night I manage to step on that one block I managed to miss during toy clean up.

1. How some weeks I have tons of things to blog about and other weeks…nada.

What are some of your personal mysteries?

A photo journal of my day.

5am. Insomina. Get up and write, check email, write blogs until Chiclet wakes:

Mmmmm…coffeeee….

Feed dog. (oh….and here’s where it gets really exciting. Hold on guys!)

Chiclet wakes. We both have breakfast (mine is different from hers)

We get ready and hit the road to run errands:

Ipods are just the most awesome thing in the world. Ipods docks for your car stereo are EVEN BETTER. I have a music-loving Chiclet. She especially likes The Decemberists. Luckily, so do I. (Damn…I need to clean my car interior)

Shopping at our friendly neighborhood Target.

They didn’t have what I needed.

Then it was off to toddler open gym for Chiclet, where we played for an hour and a half:

Then home again! A nap for Chiclet and….

Writing for me. Mmmmmm…diet cooooke with liiime…..

My computer is “well loved”. I use it a lot, after all.

After she wakes up, we have lunch and go through our normal afternoon routine of me stacking blocks, playing with toys with her, changing diaper, while getting snatches of writing time in between.

Yes, the glamorous life of a romance author. Y’all are lucky I didn’t have scrub toilets today.