Pilfered from Goodreads:
Yesterday was a typical writing day. It went something like this:
Step 1 – Facebook.
I go back and forth on whether to write first, then do the social media thing or the other way around. I went to FB first because I wanted to check on the status of the Carstens Fire (much better today, BTW). (This was the view from Yosemite Natl Park looking west toward Mariposa, when the fire was raging at its worst.)
And on M-W-F, On Fire Fiction, my authors co-op, sponsors special focus days: Man Candy Monday, Fur Baby Wednesday and First Line Fridays. Images are fun. This one got me a whole lot of likes.
Step 2 – Twitter.
I read my group feed and re-tweet a bunch–especially the fun stuff.
Next, I load-up my daily Tweets on Hootsuite (Is that cheating? Probably, but I do spontaneous Tweets, too. Really. I do.)
I even Tweet pics when something comes up. This one is from this morning when my loving hubby delivered my newly re-finished picnic table.
Step 3 – Pinterest.
This isn’t a given. Sometimes, I get drawn to a blog on FB or Twitter and find something “pin-worthy.” Like this cool shot.
Step 4 – Blog.
If you’re reading this, you know I don’t blog every day. I’d NEVER get any writing done if I blogged every day. And whatever would I blog about? My routine or something equally stupid? My animals? Of course not, that’s what embedded YouTube videos are for. ;-? Check out the newly added feature to my home page: Dog Wars.
Step 5 – Write the book.
Which brings me to the subject of this blog. (In my newspaper writing life, they’d call that “burying the lead.”)
Some days Once in a great while, the writing flows and your characters sparkle with such life and pizzazz you can’t wait to share their words with the world. I’ve reached a pivotal place in my Screw Senility series Book IV, THE BIG BANG! THEORY. The Black Moment. Judy has just made love with the man of her dreams. She’s made the deepest, most soulful connection possible and is basking in the afterglow when the inevitable happens… Mr. Perfect speaks. He says something candid, truthful (from his point of view) and wrong (in Judy’s point of view). She sees him a new and unflattering light that shakes her to her core. Her HEA (happily-ever-after) implodes. She grabs her clothes and hops in a cab where she has the following conversation with her BFF, Pru (who is in Iceland with the infamous Gerald, her Mr. Perfect):
Such a frivolous, insignificant word.
She’d connected with that man on a level you only read about in romance novels. And, now, instead snuggling and cuddling and laughing and getting it on again, she was sitting in the back of a cab feeling a little tender in her lady bits and ridiculously exposed, naked where her emotions were concerned.
Her phone vibrated against her hip. Pru. Cosmic timing, perhaps?
“What do you mean? You could tell I was upset from one word?”
“I’m an intuit. Did you know that’s the name of an Eskimo tribe?”
Judy rolled her eyes. “Well, sorry to disappoint, but nothing’s wrong. Not really. I’m in a cab leaving Judge Canby’s. We had lunch.” Sorta. We both ate, anyway. Her naughty smile felt forced.
“Cool. But something’s wrong. I feel it. Unless it’s that soup I ate for dinner. I think I saw seaweed and tentacles of some kind floating in it.”
Judy couldn’t help but chuckle. She adored her friend. Normally, she would have shared every tantalizing moment of her encounter with Wiley, but not this time. Some things were simply too painful.
“Buddy’s memorial is Sunday. I know you can’t make–“
“I’ll be there. That’s the reason I called. My flight arrives tonight at midnight.”
“Your flight? What happened to Gerald?”
Pru sighed weightily. “Where should I start? The bar bill he ran up with the floozy from Gestalt? Or the limp dick that couldn’t get hard without porn playing in the background on a widescreen TV. Porn starring a certain bimbette named DewE.” She sighed again. “Some things just aren’t meant to be, Judy.”
Judy bit down on her lip. Wasn’t that the truth? “I know what you mean. I just had sex with my mother.”
A loud honk preceded the taxi swerving sharply to the right, toppling Judy over since she’d been too upset to remember to buckle. “Hey,” she cried. “I was speaking figuratively, not literally.”
The cabbie’s gaze met hers sheepishly in the rear view mirror. “Sorry.”
“She’s eighty-three. And so not my type.”
Judy returned the phone to her ear. “Are you still there, Pru? We just missed sideswiping a bus. The perfect end to the perfect day.”
“So you and the judge did the dirty?”
“How was it?”
Judy lowered her voice. “Freaking transcendental. Best of my life. That convent is looking better and better. After Wiley, I’m ruined for other men.”
Pru groaned. “You wish. Don’t make any hasty life-altering decisions. I’ll be home soon and we’ll figure this out.”
So, what’s your routine? Does it help you accomplish what you need to accomplish…or are you easily side-tracked by snippets and other nonsense?