Something Romance-y

Last time I posted a quick short about an abused woman reclaiming a tattoo from her dead ex-husband. Fun!

I figured this time I would post something romance-y.

I know there are plenty of haters out there, plenty of people who poo-poo on romance for one reason or another. But I LOVE the genre. I love everything about it. I love that there's always (minus the rare exception) a happy ending. I love reading about two or more characters surviving tribulations and falling in love. I love that it can bring a reader joy when they may not have much of it in their life. I love the moody heroes and feisty heroines. I love the adventure. I love...
Well, I love love *grin*

So here's a snippet from something I've been brewing inside my skull:

     Kash Kallmar pushed his way through the crowd along the back of the tent. He didn't want to get too close to the stage. No sense in letting the woman know he had found her. She'd figure it out soon enough.

     The crowd pressed together, shoulder to shoulder, reeking of alcohol-fueled testosterone and sweat. A man to his right mimed a crude gesture with his fist and crotch to the hilarity of his companions. Lights strung along the perimeter of the stretched canvas walls shimmered yellow in the whites of their eyes.

     Music drifted out from behind the stage, volume climbing, filling the thick space above and around the audience. The lights dimmed and darkened.

     His father had told him he'd know her by the pure white eyelashes of her left eye. All he needed was a spotlight's confirmation of her face, and then he'd take her home to their people.

     She appeared from behind the curtain--a shadow, delicious curves--and the men around him bellowed. Her hips and arms swayed to the music as she crossed to the front of the stage.

     A lone light came on, illuminating her back. Her red and black corset laces trailed down to the tops of her fishnet stockings.

    The face, he had to see the face to know for sure.

     But when she spun to face the crowd, Kash forgot why he'd come to the sideshow.

See? Isn't romance fun?

Get Real

Since my last post, I've thought a lot about the content that I'm putting up here and I've come to a conclusion:
Total. Snooze. Fest.
Then I read a revelatory blog about praising people on social media sites without being generic (June 23rd post by Porter Anderson at writerunboxed.com) and had a major DUH moment.
If I want to give people, readers, clients, etc an idea about me as a writer, shouldn't I be writing blog posts AS A F**KING WRITER???
(See? I told you it was a DUH moment.)
So, what am I supposed to do now? Share a story? Post some pictures of what inspires me?
I hear you shouting, "Story! Story!" (I really didn't hear anything. Well, maybe SIX voices shouting)
Okay, but just a quick, creepy one. (**disclaimer: this is a work of fiction** and **don't try this at home** and **these people are fictional**)


Reclamation

     I shifted the shovel to my right hand and peeked over my shoulder again. There weren't any street lights in this neighborhood and clouds covered the silver fingernail moon. The darkness followed along as my steady and consuming accomplice. The whiskey I'd fortified my courage with still coated my throat, but did nothing to warm me. I guess when you're creeping into a cemetery to do what I was about to do, you don't get to be warm.


     He shouldn't have gotten the stupid thing in the first place. We were done. I wanted no part of him, his life, or his future. But he did it anyway. Go fucking figure.

     The street ended in a scraggly, vacant lot, the chain-link fence at its edge my only remaining barrier. Then trees and shadows until I saw the fresh mound of dirt.

     I tossed the duffel bag full of tools over first, and then the shovel. Halfway up, my black pants got snagged and in the process of freeing myself, I felt the unmistakable burn of wire gouging into my calf. Awesome. On the way out, I'd have to make sure I left no DNA behind.

     Of course, I doubted anyone would give a shit about some blood on a fence if I got caught. Nope. They'd have plenty of other stuff to talk about.

     The cemetery wasn't creepy at all--quiet, peaceful, in the way only a place full of dead people could be, I guess. I was in the newest section, the one with the fancy etched-portrait gravestones surrounded by random memorabilia of the person underneath. Showy plastic flower arrangements danced in the wind, a chorus line winging me toward my goal.

     And there it was. In the very back row, isolated from its neighbors and marked by a hump of dirt.

     My ex-husband's final home.

     If someone had been around to see my smile, I'm afraid of how they would've described it. On my face it weighed as much as I would estimate a million dollars in gold might weigh.

     A tattoo. All of this because I was pissed off about the tattoo. Buzzed on Kentucky's finest, dressed in all black, and standing over a fresh grave was about as far removed from being in charge of snacks at the soccer tournament as I could've gotten. What can I say? I'd started a new chapter in my life after I'd finally grown tired of being Mrs. Keeps-Her-Mouth-Shut-And-Lets-Her-Husband-Abuse-Her-In-Every-Way-Possible. And no way in hell was I going to let him take that tattoo with him.

     He'd said he wanted to get it to show me how much he still loved me. Even posted it online to make sure word got around to me that he'd done it. A cliche heart with my name scrolled across it. Like that was going to make all the other shit go away.

     Nope. And as a final fuck you salute to every single connection between the two of us, I was taking that tattoo back.

     I dropped the bag and the implements inside clanged together. A crowbar, my favorite chef's knife, and an empty pickle jar. The handle of the shovel whispered against the palm of my gardening gloves as I got into position.

     "Hi, Christopher." He hated when I used his full name. "Don't worry, you won't feel a thing."



Well, there you are. A writerly post.
Satisfied?
I know I am.

What's Best For Me

I've been enjoying my stay-cation. How am I enjoying it, you ask?

Creating a website (www.celesteeaston.com), pushing traffic through my facebook page (www.facebook.com/AuthorCelesteEaston), and updating all of my online presences accordingly.

Some vacation *hmmph* *pouting*

I really can't complain too much because I've also been re-learning how to be flexible. My new schedule will be totally in flux--tattooing by appointment only, any day, any time, and writing as much as possible. The freedom of this will be something I'm not sure I've ever experienced in my entire life.

Which begs the question--how to stay on track with so much free time? I went from having a very rigid and unforgiving schedule to having NO schedule at all. So, now what?

Well, I'll tell you what.

First of all, although the break was much needed and wholly deserved, I get B-O-R-E-D, BORED. And I'm afraid that the missing rigidity will make me unmotivated and lackadaisical, something I fear more than spiders. *shivers dramatically*

Therefore, to maintain focus and stave off the boredom, I am requiring a minimum level of productivity for each day. I have to spend at least an hour online, cultivating my author brand. (And mind you, not allowing myself to be distracted by the wanton decadence which is the Internet.) I also must keep track of and pursue my tattoo brand, to which I will also dedicate an hour of time. Plus give my utmost best to my tattoo clients when I am in that incarnation. In addition, I will write, write, and WRITE. (And edit when necessary.)

And spend time with my husband.
And see my family.
And catch up with friends.
And whatever else the empty parts of the schedule will allow.

Wait...
I just went full circle, back to the rigid schedule.
Hell, maybe that's what's best for me after all.

Show Them Your War Face

Over the weekend I attended The Reader Author Get Together in Cincinnati. It was my second time and I had so much fun. I also managed to get some work done for my...

AGENT.

That's right. I said, AGENT. I signed with Nalini Akolekar of Spencerhill Associates, Ltd.
*confetti throwing, happy dancing*

And now I have major work to do, but I'm SO ready for the challenge.

I've also decided to change my pen name. That will be a lot more challenging because I have to make the adjustment to every single place online where it appears. (At least in the places I can control.) *groan*

But, again, I'm ready for the challenge.

I go back to tattooing next week and I'm really looking forward to the new environment. I know it will be good for me creatively in BOTH aspects of my life.

So, here's to challenges and facing them head-on. Look them in the eyes and show them your war face.

Show no fear and you shall be rewarded.

Change is Good (a.k.a. Everything Happens for a Reason)

Change is good. And, holy COW, do I have a lot of it going on right now.

One of the biggest changes for me is that, as of May 31st, I will no longer be working at the tattoo shop where I've been for thirteen years, the entire span of my tattoo career. It is sad, but necessary. The time has come to move on. I will be working by appointment only, which will be great because...

I have another huge change coming where my writing is concerned and I'll need more flexibility in my tattoo schedule to accommodate that. Nothing crazy (yet), but I know I'm going to need a lot more time to dedicate to writing. *grinning from ear to ear*

The second part of this post's title, Everything Happens for a Reason, is something I'm living right now. I get this philosophy. I've experienced it in the past. But, in the last couple of weeks, I've had so many small, coincidental things happen that I cannot deny the serendipitous nature of these events. And these happenings have confirmed for me that I am on the right path. And being on the right path links back to the importance of change, which links back to everything happening for a reason, and back and forth in an encompassing circle of awesomeness.

I am typically of the "Change is Bad/Terrifying" mindset, so I've had to make some mental adjustments to compensate. Am I freaked out? YES! I'd be lying if I denied it. Is there a possibility that it will all blow up in my face? Yes. I try not to linger on that question though--too much negativity down that road. Do I have to talk myself out of a panic attack sometimes (like when I think about the last question)? Yes, but I'm getting better at it. A little better every day.

The Importance of Conferences. And Lists.

First, I can't believe I haven't posted here since January. Perhaps that is an indication of just how busy I've been. The tattoo shop has been swamped and my appointments have consistently been booked three weeks out since my last post. I love and hate this time of year.

Second, I just got back from the Romantic Times Booklover's Convention in Chicago. Great times with amazing people--fellow authors AND friends. Networking, socializing, reconnecting, and laughing. Even worked in drinks, deep dish pizza, a trip to the top floor of the Willis Tower (formerly known as the Sears Tower), the tallest building in the western hemisphere, and many rounds of dirty mad libs. Also, some more education about the craft of writing. Whew.

And it reminded me of how important it is for me to attend writer's conferences. Not only does it allow me to connect with people I might not see otherwise, it also renews my determination to become a published writer. And not merely published, but also a better writer and a successful one.

I finished my horror manuscript and am currently in the editing process. I'm still madly in love with the story and my protagonist. Hopefully, the edits won't be a dream crusher.

I return to tattooing tomorrow and my time/life becomes divided again. But I'm making an Every Day List for myself to insure that I squeeze every last drop of juice out of my days.

It's the only way I'll persevere. Plus, sticking to the list will keep me focused and fuel my determination on a daily basis.

Included on the Every Day List:
Blog more often
Allow down time
Don't skip the gym

I'll try to stick to it.

Still Here, More Divided

For those of you following the link from my updated tattoo website (www.tattoosbyceleste.com), welcome! And I just provided a handy little link for those from the other half of my life--the writing half--so that the rest of you can check out the website too. Yay!

I'm sure some of you (Anybody out there? No, probably not.) may notice I haven't posted here for a bit. Call me a slacker if you will, but please know that I'm busy writing things other than blog posts and tattooing until my eyes cross.

It's the beginning of my busy season at the tattoo shop. I go from working eight hours to nine or ten hours (or more) on the days I work. Plus, I juggle drawing up tattoos for my scheduled appointments and handling walk-in clients too. In addition, I have to clean, return calls, answer emails, and shovel snow. All of which makes for mentally exhausting days and nights.

So, I have to stay very focused if I plan to meet my personal deadline for finishing the first draft of my current work in progress. Which is January 31st, by the way. My writing time gets cut in half. Sometimes, it's whittled down to a mere hour per day. The writing is going well and the project is...exhilarating? No, that sounds too, I don't know, joyful. A more apt description would be consuming. The project is consuming and I'm happy to let it eat me alive.

But how to stay on track? How to keep some small kernel of creativity in reserve for those precious writing minutes left to me at the end of the day?

Eliminate any possible distractions.

I've removed every app from my phone which could tempt me into wasting time. Well, not facebook or twitter, but c'mon, those are necessary. Right? Yeah, maybe I should hide those from myself too. Especially twitter. Total time suck. I do, however, make sure to sign out each time I use either one.

My critique partner, Kimberly Meyer, had the brilliant idea to change her passwords on time-sucking sites to things which would prompt her to get back to writing. She's so smart.

I also set a start time for myself. I get an hour to unwind after work. No more, no less. Then, I turn off the television, put on some music, and open the laptop.

The husband is loving enough to allow me the space (and time) I need. He's so smart.

So, I've spent my hour composing this post.

Time to go to work.