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This site updated
August 4, 2010.
NIGHT TRAIN TO NAPLES
ISBN-13:
1-978-60272-716-8
(Electronic)
Available from:
Amber Quill Press
DESIRE--HOT & SWEET
ISBN-13:
978-1-60272-799-1
(Paperback)
Available from:
Amber Quill Press
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I was six months pregnant, reclining in the dental chair while the dentist drilled. I hate dental procedures, and my entire body was tense. Soft music played in the background, the drill whined and ground, the dentist and his assistant chatted. I tried unsuccessfully to relax. Suddenly the music stopped. The drill went silent. The lights went out. The dentist and his assistant were so surprised they stopped talking. We were trapped in a soundless void.
My mind's eye moved backwards down a narrow hallway toward blackness. "I'm going to faint," I said, as nausea rolled over me. I'd never fainted before, but I knew with absolute surety that that was what the blackness signaled.
The assistant lowered the head of my chair even more while the dentist loosened my skirt's waistband. They fanned me. Then the electricity surged on, lights came up and music filled the silence. I didn't pass out after all. My tension, my pregnancy, and the sudden cessation of sound had created a drop in my blood pressure that triggered the near faint.
***
ALWAYS, the music dies for me at some point in every story. I teeter on the edge of that soundless void, and I have no words, no ideas. As surely as I knew I'd been close to fainting in that dental chair, I know this story is worthless, I'm a lousy writer, and I'll never be able to pull it off.
Over time, I've learned how to turn the music back on. Sometimes it's as simple as getting more sleep or taking a walk. Or leaving the computer room to water the African Violets, put a load of laundry in and set the table for dinner. On one story, I realized the music had died because I didn't really know my hero. Another time, I blocked because I didn't know the setting well enough to get my characters moving again in it. Both were easy fixes. At times I've abandoned the word processor and written down by hand every crazy thought that comes into my head. Supposedly this eliminates the middle man—the computer—and ideas flow directly from the brain to the paper through your hand. Out of this craziness of jotting down freely flowing thoughts, something vital to my story inevitably pops up. It's sort of like asking a question of a Ouija Board.
ALWAYS, there's a way through a block, even if it's just forcing your uninspired self to get your characters moving again on the page. Once a block is gone, it's gone. The rest of the way to the final word will be like cutting through soft butter.
Carolina
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