March 23, 2006


I really had to fight to get it, too, because *unless* Beth’s under a tight deadline, in which case she works like a mad dog pawing its way into a loaded chicken yard, she’s the world’s biggest procrastinator. Just listen to what happened yesterday, when I finally forced her to spill the beans on paper, so to speak.

She comes into our writing room, where I’m sitting and patiently leafing through an L.L. Bean catalog in search of a safari outfit because Count Baballalapaloozo has promised to take me on safari next week. She sits down at her computer and heaves this huge, dramatic sigh.

Beth: “I don’t feel like writing today.”

Me: “Why not? Don’t you want to finish this book and Get The Damn Thing Out There?”

Beth: “Well…yes. But I really don’t feel like it today.”

Me: You didn’t answer my main question. Why not?”

Beth: “Well, (Please notice that everytime she’s procrastinating she uses “well” a lot. Which is why editors don’t want authors to use ‘well’, it makes the person sound too indecisive. Even I know that.) the thing is, Hots, it’s got to be a highly emotional scene because this is where Raven learns who the killer is and she knows Jack won’t believe her.”

Me: “So? Get emotional!”

Beth: “But I don’t *feel* emotional right now.”

Right about then, she actually opens her document. Big step when she doesn’t feel like writing, right? THEN she immediately minimizes it and clicks on the email icon.

Me: “WHAT are you DOING?”

Beth: “Uh…checking to see if anything important is there.”

Me: “Beth, is ANYTHING in your email EVER really important?”

Beth, peering at the screen while email loads: “Well (There she goes again, ‘well’. Told ya!) there might be. This time. Maybe.”

She scans her email. Deletes three definite spams, stares at a ‘might be spam’, takes a chance, clicks on it, sure enough it’s spam, she says “Damn!” and deletes it fast, but not fast enough because it might have planted something nefarious on her computer. Which looks to be about as close to nefarious as anything we’re going to see today. She clicks on AdAware and I sit there tapping my toes for five minutes while she deletes everything it comes up with.

(I’m still pretty patient at this point.)

Me: “So are you ready to write yet?”

Beth: “Uh, yeah, soon as I do a couple of things.” Those couple of things consist of reading the N.Y. Times, cursing because they charge for her favorite columnists, clicking to check her bank balance, which is exactly the same as it was at 7 a.m. this morning, clicking to check her website stats, THEN clicking on Yahoo Games.

I jump down from the big cabinet where she keeps her doll collection. Even the dolls are getting disgusted at this point. I stand behind her.

Me: “Turbo Solitaire is going to get you a contract for The Scoutmaster’s Wife?”

Beth: “Just one game, okay?”

Me: “You always say that, then after three games you say, ‘I’m only playing till I win one.’ And you never win! Beth, get off that thing and open your document!”

(You can see she’s getting me very upset, I’m beginning to use exclamation points.)

She sighs again and gets out of Turbo Solitaire, re-opens her document, goes to the end.

I’m thinking, she’s gonna write it. FINALLY!!

She starts scrolling up, up, up…UP?

Me: “WHAT are you doing NOW?”

Beth: “Well…something I wrote yesterday might need editing.”

Me: “Nothing needs editing. Get on with it!!” (Notice she’s got me using two exclamation points now?)

Beth: “But it might.”

Me: “You KNOW you can do that later. GET THE DAMN SCENE DOWN!!!”

She knows I mean business. I just used three exclamation points. (Which you never use in real manuscripts, even I know that, but this is an emergency, right?)

She scrolls back down to where she left off the day before.

Sits staring at the screen.

Not moving a muscle.

I tap her on the shoulder.

And I take full credit for the scene that flew out of her fingers right after that because if I hadn’t tapped her, she’d still be sitting there looking at a blank screen.

She writes the entire scene almost without stopping for breath. When she finishes, her blood pressure is sky high and so is mine because OMIGOD, she finally put down IN HER MANUSCRIPT exactly who the killer is and REALLY racked Raven over the coals doing it!

Me: “Oh my God!”

Beth turns around, looks at me: “What do you mean, ‘Oh my God’?”

Me: “Oh my GOD!”

Beth: “What’s wrong NOW?”

Me: “OH MY GOD!”

Beth: “Hots, stop saying ‘Oh my God’! What’s the matter?”

Me: “How can you DO that to Jack? I thought you LOVED Jack!”

Beth: “I do love Jack. I adore him. He’s my all-time favorite male lead so far.”

Me: “But–OH MY GOD, look what you just DID to him!”

Beth turns around and gives me the most deliciously evil grin I’ve ever seen on a human being, one I never thought I’d see on her because normally she’s a total wuss: “Heh, heh, heh. That’s nothing compared to what’s going to happen to him in the next chapter. But don’t worry, that’ll be the end of the book.”

Me: “You’re serious? After you did THIS to him, there’s MORE?”

Beth: “There’s always more, Hots. Even you know that.”

Hugs till next time, my loves. Maybe we’ll even have a book by that time. But I’m not holding my breath.

Hotclue The Ever-Patient

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4 Responses | | Comments Feed

  1. HOLY SHITTA, HOTS!!!! Damn, you’ve even got me doing it. What the hell happened to Jack? I love Jack! If your wussy other half hurt Jack I’m going to make her life miserable until she makes my wonderful hero whole again!!!!!!!!!!!!

  2. ::::Hotclue, blushing demurely::::: I can’t tell you, Sloane. I’ve been sworn to secrecy. 😉

    You’ll know soon enough. (I’m in love with him too.)

    Hugs, Hotclue

  3. Apparently, Hotclue can get more out of Beth than we can! I say let Hotclue have at her evey damn day. About Jack, I don’t want to see him hurt either, but do we get some beef cake going here? Some taut muscles, some tight ass, swelling pants???? I know Hotclue would be in favor of it!!

  4. Taut muscles, yeah, we can throw in a couple of those.

    Tight ass? Gosh, I thought y’all alredy knew he had THAT. Why else would we be salivating at the thought of him?

    Uh…swelling pants?


    I’ll let you and Sloane take care of that in your own books. 😉

    (Ya Horny Wenches!)

    Hugs, Hotclue







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