My life just got complicated. I’m scheduled to be at the Aphrodisia Authors blog and the Access Romance blog today. I’d love to see you stop in both places because I’ll be talking about Texas Men.

And since I’m asking you to follow me to two other blogs today, I’m offering a prize!

Pssst…You have to see the posts to learn all the juicy details! ~DD

I scooped this from my favorite “man-watch” site, Just Beautiful Men. Tell me this man doesn’t have a totally lickable chest—sand and all! What sort of writing inspiration do you think he’s giving me?
😎 DD in the groove and writing her ass off today

People always ask writers where they get their inspiration for new stories. The automatic answer that most often comes is, “Everywhere.”

Case in point. I was cleaning out my photo files tonight—mostly looking for unflattering pics of myself (I cull them ruthlessly!)—when I came across this one. It’s blurred. Elle James, Sylvia Day, and Jordan Summers are almost unrecognizable, and the background is overexposed. But my finger hesitated on the mouse while I contemplated deleting it.

Why? It’s creepy. And the longer I looked at it, the creepier it got. I started the old “what if” question all writers ask themselves when they start brainstorming a new project. “What if a woman takes pictures of friends in a familiar place, but the ghostly background isn’t the same one she snapped? What if she’s seeing how that same place looked fifty years ago, a hundred years ago, or five hundred?” And off my imagination went…

With one book down and another to start, I’ve been straightening my desk, setting up new folders, and clearing my mind. I have an idea for the next project; a starting point. By Tuesday, I intend to have the first chapter thrown down, and then I’ll stand back and see what I think of the course I’m charting.

In the meantime, I’ve finally had time to do those “New Year” things that I couldn’t while I was still deep in DR4. I decided rather than resolutions, I’d call mine promises. And they are ones I intend to keep.

Promises to Myself

* Every story I write will be my best effort and something I can take pride in
* Every story I write will be fresh, inventive, and reflective of my natural voice
* Every story I submit will display the hallmarks of a professional: clean, well-conceived and presented
* Every story I see released will be promoted to the best of my ability
* I will diversify my writing: fiction-nonfiction; erotica-erotic romance-romance
* I will continue to improve my skills and seek criticism
* I will start every day reflecting on my priorities and stepping out according to plan
* I will end each day reflecting on my progress and preparing my desk for the next day’s work
* I will give back to the writing community
* I will be responsive, professional, and well-intentioned in all my correspondence and communications

There. I committed to them all in public, so spank me if you ever see me backslide.

Yeah, I finished DR4 last night and shipped it to my editor. Today, I’m working at catching up on everything I let slide while I pounded out those last chapters. That includes catching up on plans.

This is what February looks like for me. Listed in priority. It’s a lot and has to be managed around a trip to Oklahoma for a plotting bootcamp my sister and I are leading. But it’s doable–IF I write 50 pages a week.

I was doing that and more for DR4, but I’m in need of a break. I don’t have time for one. When I turned in that book, I satisfied my last contract. So, now I have to search for the next big idea, the next hottest thing to snag an editor’s attention. If you have any ideas, pitch ’em my way. I’m thinking something “cowboy” next since I just dragged my hero and heroine out of Hell. I need a change of scenery.

I’m pages away from being finished with my current work-in-progress. By now, I’m thoroughly sick of it. Sad, but true. It happens when I’m closing in on the finish line for a long project.

I want it over. I feel as though I’ll scream if I read what I’ve already written one more time. I’m ready to wrap this sucker up, toss it at my wonderful editor, and let her throw up all over it before she ships it back to me again. I think I tell her that every time too, although I do it in much more tactful language (I hope).

Comparing writing a book with giving birth to a child is so cliche’, but it’s sooooo true. You’re scared and excited when you’re building up to the big day. Your manuscript is bloated, you look like hell, everything hurts—but once you’re on that table it all boils down to, “Jesus, would you just jerk it out of me already!” Okay, I’m taking a deep breath. Didn’t mean to get so graphic, but maybe you can follow what I mean.

Once it’s over, I’ll want a drink or two to unwind. I’ll swear this is the worse job in the world and ask myself why, oh why, would I want to put myself through it again.

But a couple of days later, I’ll forget about all the pain and be eager to conceive that brand new shiny project, and off I’ll go again like that crazy woman in Arkansas who just gave birth to her 18th child!

Deep breath. It’s almost over. Damn, don’t I at least rate a morphine drip?

For the record, I’m hetero. But for that shapely bottom, I’d consider a switch. What do you think? Mmm-mmm.

I love writing short stories. Love getting a story done in a day, start to finish. It’s a chance to stretch my muscles and get as much emotion, action, and sexy content into as few pages as possible because it’s a way to exericise my brain. So, when I see a call for submission for something that teases my imagination, I jump all over it. Like I did this one. What erotica writer could resist a call for Lesbian Cowboy stories?

And surprise…mine made the cut! Yeehaw! This one’s out sometime in July. I hope that even if this isn’t your flavor of erotica, you’ll give it whirl.