So, funny thing about me (well, there are lots of funny things about me as I am often told I am weird) but one I have noticed about myself is that on the start of every new project I get stuck at page 100. Every. Single. Time.
And it’s not like I’m scared of the number 100. One hundred dollars––yes, please! One hundred crunches––I’ll show you what these mommy abs can do. One hundred minutes to myself-double yes!! My last book was 400 pages. Now, 400, THAT was a scary number, but one hundred. Pshh! What’s a measly little one hundred? Apparently, just the number of pages that seems to whoop my writing butt. Stupid 100.
Some could call it writer’s block. I wrote about that before, but this isn’t so much writer’s block as just plain ol’ stuck. What’s the difference, you ask? Well, in my case, research would have a lot to do with it, and maybe be desire or lack there of.
As writers we are told to take the worst thing that could happen to our character and make it ten times worse. (Mean bunch, we are.) But, what if you can’t think of the worse thing that could happen? I mean, what if you have no idea what’s really that bad for him/her? That’s when I realize I don’t know my characters.
But, Erin, you’re a hundred pages in, how can you not know your character?
Good freaking question. So, I digress. I stop. Sometimes for a day. Sometimes for a month (like my current situation). I drink some coffee, eat a snack, do more research. I ask more questions, to myself, to my characters, and to anyone and everyone who will lend me an ear, so I can bounce ideas off of them. And, eventually some little nugget of information comes my way and things start to make sense again. I get my desire back, my zest and zing for the story. Then, I realize I have to start all over again because I forgot what I wrote to begin with. Oy vey!
No wonder why we always hear about these artsy types of people on drugs. Creativity doesn’t always come naturally. Woo… it hurts my brain thinking about all this. I think I need a snack. You know, to help my mom abs and all. Good day, y’all!
See how Erin got past page 100 and used her creativity in her latest release:
Tyler Wilde moves to Black Widow, Texas, to join the Blue Guardians, a local biker club that helps abused women and children. He’s intent on starting his life over, but a small piece of his past collides with his present when he runs into the local waitress, Annie Carter.
Annie’s the girl of his boyhood dreams, and Tyler can’t wait to get reacquainted with her. Only problem is, Annie’s engaged. But what has Tyler more troubled than the diamond on her finger is the bruise that graces her arm. To make matters worse, Annie’s abuser and intended husband is also the town’s Chief of Police.
Tyler is determined to offer Annie a safe haven, but she refuses his help until her life is hanging by a thread.
“I’m sad I didn’t get to work on your car.”
God, what a horrible pick-up line. She probably thought he was a giant perv and a complete moron.
She flashed him a half-smile that burned his insides. The diamond on her finger nearly blinded him as she brushed a stray strand from her forehead. The fire inside of him fizzled out like baking soda to a grease fire.
He forced a grin then shot his gaze down to the pastry case.
“Though, I will say…” She tossed the towel aside and stared at him. “Something about your face looks oddly familiar.”
He glanced back up. “Yours does, too, but I don’t really see how.” The spark in his brain burned brighter the more he stared at her.
“Are you from here, or is your family from here?”
“I’m not, but my grandpa was. He lived in a cabin about ten miles outside of town.”
“By Virginia Creek, right? Mr. Wooly.” Her smile grew. “Yeah, you used to come visit him. You guys would go fishing.”
“How’d you know?” He’d never talked to anyone when he came to visit his grandpa. He’d stayed in the woods, hidden and safe. Or at least, that’s how he’d felt.
He stared at her a bit longer. The blue in her eyes reignited a small light of recognition.
Could it be?
“I remember you.” She grabbed a pair of tongs off the counter top. “I used to play out by the water, and I would see you across the creek casting your line. You taught me how to skip rocks one day.”
Moments of his past flashed across his mind. It was her.
The girl across the water.
Six years ago and nothing more than a desperate housewife, Erin Bevan began her writing journey.
As a child, reading and writing were her nemeses. It wasn’t until she found herself almost utterly alone, in a different country, that she took up the act of reading for enjoyment. Her passion for writing was born not by reading the old classics, but by reading many new tried and true authors of today: Nora Roberts, Mary Kay Andrews, Nicholas Sparks, and Tracy Brogan to name a few.
Clinging to books for friends in a land where not many spoke the English language, she found a secret passion she didn’t know existed inside of her. With nothing more than time on her hands, she honed in on the craft of writing until she finally worked up enough courage to let other people read her stories.
She spends most of her time juggling her three little people and trying to keep everyone’s lives flowing as smoothly as possible. When she isn’t using her super powers to wipe sticky goo from her children’s faces, she spends a little time dabbling in her writing career.
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