Procrastination... The End?

For the past few months I was – let’s be honest here – procrastinating. A lot. And it is/was completely my fault. I barely managed to get myself to sit down and write something. Even blog posts were scarce and I needed someone – fictional – to breathe down my neck to write any. I was avoiding my computer, actually my new lap top like the plague.

You’re probably wondering how this happened?

At the end of the last year I had already written more than 30.000 words of my new novel. Somehow, I knew it was… crap. Too boring.

So, what did I do? I asked my good friend to ask some of her reading friends to read it. They didn’t know who I was, I didn’t – still don’t – know who they were in order to be completely honest in their feed-back.

Guess what? I was right. It was crap. I wondered how this could have happened.

I had such an amazing idea in my head. When it hit me, I got goose-bumps. I remember exactly how and when it hit me. I was in my car, driving home from work, listening to some music… I was so excited. But there was another story to be edited, polished and got ready for publication.

And before I managed to sit down and write the idea… it looks like it got watered-down.

Reading all the feed-backs, over and over again – although all professional and not putting me down as a writer – that nasty little “I’m not good enough” bug started to hunt me down.

At first it was a distinctive little voice, but as time passed by, it grew louder and louder and soon I wasn’t writing anything anymore and I used my laptop only for socializing.

Right at the same time my professional life became a mess. I had so much work at the office I stayed there longer and longer, trying to sort things out down, so I made that as my perfect excuse, why I am not writing. At all.

But now, I need to face myself in the mirror and tell myself I was procrastinating. A lot. The thing is, I work fine under pressure. If I’m given a deadline.

Perhaps writing as an Indie writer gives me too much freedom as to when I will write and how much and this kills my motivation. Perhaps having my day-job gives me too much safety… Perhaps my personal life is too busy to be able to…

But you know what? I know now that this are just excuses. And lame ones too.

A few days ago, I had to write a guest blog post for a friend and she gave me a deadline… I felt great after writing it down. I almost forgot that feeling…

So, this is how it is going to work. I will set myself goals, deadlines.  

To get my writing spirit back, I’m going to focus to write (and bore you with) at least two blog posts per week and after that…

I just know my writing beast will get unleashed and… well… let us all be surprised.

Blurb ~ WIP No. III ~ At the End of the Summer

And here we are... Wait. No. Wrong.

And so, here I am... 

My novel no. 3 ~ At the End of the Summer ~ is finished.

The countless number of MY edits ~ Checked and done.

Two professional edits ~ Checked and done.

Professional proofread ~ Checked and done.

Read through one more time ~ Checked and done. 

Blurb written? Yes. Number 1, #2, #3...etc... #7 and #8 and #9. 

I wrote different variations of the same story.

This is the last one - Blurb ~ Attempt No 9:

Caroline treats love as a game. She stopped believing when her family fell apart. At twenty-eight she focuses on her career as a freelance photographer and lets nothing stand in her way.

Guitarist and songwriter Joshua is the heart and soul of his rock band The Burning Ruins. To the outside world, his life is perfection. Except that Joshua has a secret and he keeps his emotions under wraps.

When they meet, their worlds are badly shaken.

In a summer that takes them from London to Wales and over Europe to the heat of Rome they are desperately trying to regain control, knowing nothing is going to be the same again.  Will the collision mend their badly cracked hearts or will it shred them to pieces?

So, what do you think? Interesting enough to make you grab your own copy and read it?

PUBLICATION DAY

Today is 'THE day. The day my second novel 

is published. 

If what you saw last few weeks didn't convince you to make your purchase, perhaps this little teaser might do the work.

~~~~~

Extract: 

The following four days were just like the first few months when Peter and I had got together. He did everything I wanted. No complaining. He was as charming as I remembered him from the start. It was as if the first four days of our vacation had never happened.

We socialised with others. He played tennis with Jason. He let me go riding without complaint and was waiting for me to come back every time with a rose in his hand.

I didn’t see Salah Ali again at the stables. Alnnajm Almuta’alliq waited for me and I had an escort. Since Rashid was occupied with other hotel guests, I was accompanied by another man from the stables. He never spoke a word, not hello at my arrival, not goodbye when I left. He looked almost the same as Rashid so I presumed they were at least relatives, if not brothers. Every evening we took the same route as the first day when I rode with Salah Ali. I already knew the path by heart.

Another argument broke out at the start of the second week of our vacation.

I had stayed that morning with Peter by the pool. I knew he preferred the pool to the sea. I didn’t understand that but I wanted to show my appreciation for all the effort he had made.

The pool was divided into several sections with small islands, connected by bridges.

As the weather was sunny and hot, I spent most of the time in the water or in the shadow of the palm trees that grew on the islands. Peter joined me a couple of times and then he decided to get himself a drink from the bar on the other side of the pool.

“Do you want anything?” he asked.

“No. I think the tea guy will be round in a minute. I’ll have tea then.”

“How can you drink tea in this weather?”

“Easy. It cools me down. You should try it.”

“No, thank you,” he said, turned around and went to the pool bar. Knowing it would take him some time to get back to the loungers I decided to swim some lengths. The last length took me back to our side of the pool. I swam under the water as I wanted to see if I was still able to hold my breath long enough to do it.

When I reached the edge of the pool, I reached up to place my hands on the ledge to pull myself out. Instead of touching the marble, I clung on the hand that pulled me out of the pool. My face was soaking wet and my hair dripping, so I grabbed the towel that was handed to me. Wiping my face, I realised that it had got very quiet. There was still music playing in the background, but the usual chatter had stopped.

I put the towel down, and stared into Salah Ali’s black eyes. We looked at each other and when I finally managed to glance around for Peter, I saw that everyone near was staring at us; the guests, the hotel staff, Peter on the bridge that led to our side of the pool. Everyone. Salah Ali had that kind of charisma.

I caught Peter’s eye and shrugged my shoulders in answer to the question in his eyes.

“Thank you,” I said. Salah Ali took the wet towel from my hands and gave it to the man behind him.

“You’re welcome.” Then Peter joined us, putting his hand possessively over my shoulders.

“Is she yours?” Salah Ali said to Peter.

“Yes,” Peter answered.

“I’m no one’s possession,” I said and shook Peter’s hand off. I knew I had turned red in anger. Just at that moment, the tea waiter appeared. As soon as he spotted Salah Ali in our company, he turned away. The hotel guests went back to what they were doing. Even the hotel staff returned to their chores.

“Watch over her,” I heard Salah Ali saying, crystal clear.

I shook Peter’s arm off my shoulders.

“If you two are discussing the price, don’t! I’m no man’s possession!” I said to Salah Ali.

Both looked at me as though I was some strange species. Salah Ali turned back to Peter.

“Watch over her, very carefully. Al-salāmu ʿalaykum.” Then he left, not saying anything to me.

“What the hell was that?!” Peter turned towards me.

“You’re asking me? You two were discussing it.”

“We certainly were not! How could you say something like that?” Peter sat down in front of me. “Who was he?”

I shrugged my shoulders.

“All I know is his name. Salah Ali.”

“And?” Peter’s voice started to tremble and he raked his hand through his hair over and over again.

“And nothing. He accompanied me the first evening when I went riding. You didn’t.”

“So every evening for the past four days you went back there hoping to see him again?” I finally put my sunglasses down and looked straight into his eyes. We were silent for a moment.

“You’re nuts. Do you know how old he is?”

“So what was he doing here?”

“How on earth should I know? He might be a guest here like we are. Jeez Peter! Think!”

I realised I was yelling and I didn’t want to make a scene. I stood up. There was that man again, standing on the edge of the pool, preparing to jump into the water. I could see his sky blue eyes, such a contrast to the colour of his hair and sun-tanned skin.

 ~~~~~~

Curious what happens next?

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