By Jorja Lovett
One of
the biggest problems I face as a writer is concentration. Not ideal
when you're self-employed and mistress of your own destiny. There are
so many distractions out there it's almost impossible to stay
focused.
I mean,
there's the research for a start. Unfortunately I don't get paid for
the hours spent ogling half naked men for 'inspiration' or else I'd
be a millionaire by now. Damn you Pinterest!
Working
from home, although preferable to actually going to work, puts
so many temptations in the way of a writer. The television and the
fridge are my personal nemeses. I can't seem to write more than a
chapter before I find an excuse to reward myself with an episode of
my favourite show, or some chocolate.
Procrastination
also stretches to social media activities. Authors are told to build
up their online presence and become accessible to readers. Cue
lengthy, very important, Twitter chats on the importance of a hero's
beard. Then there's the sharing of cover art, and cat pics, on
Facebook, which invariably leads to playing the Odd Socks game. A
curse which can only be broken once one has run out of lives and
matching pairs of socks.
Usually
at this point of the day guilt will then set in and there's a vague
attempt at actual housework. Whoops! Is it lunchtime
already? Well then, I'll stalk my inbox for news and check my book
sales.
Once
all other avenues have been exhausted, it's finally time to write.
I'm old school, and I like to make things harder for myself. I write
longhand first, and, when I eventually decipher my own handwriting, I
edit as I type. It's probably twice the length of everyone else's
process but it seems to be the only way I can work. For no logical
reason, the words flow better for me with a biro and a reporter's
notebook than by typing straight into a document.
So, my
pen is poised, but wait, I need to refresh my memory with what I had
written yesterday. And you can't read without having a cup of tea…
Ah yes,
I was leading up to the big love scene.
Now,
there are said to be two types of writers – plotters and pantsters.
Naturally, I claim to be neither one, nor the other. I'm something of
a hybrid. Generally, I have an outline of the story, or scene, before
I begin writing. However, my characters have a habit of hijacking my
plans and steering the plot in a completely different direction from
the one I'd laid out in the synopsis.
Before
I commit pen to paper, I mull over the scene I want to create. Never
underestimate the power of mulling.
'There
was a heartbeat before Nate captured her lips with his.'…leads
into the hot sex scene which will be completed another day since it's
time to cook dinner.
And
there you have it, the reasons my book releases are so sporadic - my
brain is prone to unsanctioned vacation time without me. At present,
I have two half-finished manuscripts. One is a contemporary romance
between a wedding planner and a jaded Earl-in-waiting. The other, is
a shifter ménage. Hopefully I will finish one before Brain decides
it's time for another trip to La-La land!
Until
then, I will leave you with details of my latest release from Totally
Bound, Pyramid of Passion. Available on general release from
September 12th.
*Childish
representation of Brain courtesy of Jorja Lovett – Age 38*
Oh, almost forgot! Leave me a comment on your favorite method of procrastination, and I'll throw your name into the hat for a book from my backlist. Don't forget to include your email address!
Blurb:
Rosie Carter can’t decide—should
she act on her feelings for her real-life co-worker or lose herself
in the fantasy of her Ancient Egyptian lover?
Rosie Carter’s cleaning job at the
museum is far from boring. She starts her night shift by finding the
security guard, Nick, screwing a redhead in the office. Running from
her attraction to him, she distracts herself with the newly acquired
Ancient Egyptian exhibit.
The Gold of Valor catches her eye—a
pendant bestowed on the Pharaoh’s soldier, Edifu. Its mystical
powers transport her into the bedroom of the man himself, who thinks
she’s a gift from the gods and worships her with his mouth, his
tongue…
When Rosie wakes up back home she
thinks it’s all been an incredibly erotic dream. Until it happens
again. She rediscovers the joy of sex and a newfound confidence with
her hunky warrior, but she’s caught between her fantasy life and
reality. When co-worker Nick starts to show his true feelings toward
her, Rosie has to decide what it is she really wants.
Excerpt
Rosie stood in awe as
she was transported into a scene reminiscent of a lavish Hollywood
production. With her path lit by a burning torch mounted on the wall,
she could see the compact gallery had expanded, its neutral décor
now a vibrant yellow adorned with colorful painted frescoes. A large
bed filled the floor space, its wooden posts carved into what looked
like animal paws. Like poor Alice down the rabbit hole, Rosie grew
curiouser and curiouser and stepped forward to investigate.
A dark figure rose from
the depths of the bed and sent her scrabbling backward onto a wooden
chest. She landed atop it with a thud.
“I’m so sorry to
intrude. I don’t know how on earth I ended up here.” Wherever
here may be. Have I sleepwalked mid-shift? Am I dreaming?
One way or another,
weeks of sleep deprivation must have taken their toll. How else could
she explain her appearance in someone else’s bedroom with no
knowledge of how she’d got there? Unless the combination of
cleaning chemicals she’d used had created some sort of
hallucination. She could have mistaken their smell for the heady
incense that filled her nostrils and gave her that woozy effect she
got after a few glasses of wine.
The occupant’s
hulking silhouette left her in no doubt about his gender. Especially
when he leaped from the bed, naked. Oh my! Rosie didn’t know
where to look. So she started from the shaved head and worked her way
down.
Dark eyes, black kohl
lined in the Egyptian fashion Rosie recognized from history books
stared back at her. She followed the muscular trunk of his long body,
as smooth as his head, down to the impressive cock swinging freely
between strong thighs. Out of politeness, she averted her eyes, then
to make sure she hadn’t exaggerated, took a second look.
Common sense screamed
at her to get out after finding herself alone with a naked stranger.
But she remained seated, frozen to the spot. The vision before her
too surreal to fear.
The living statue of
masculinity knelt at her feet, with an arm across his chest and his
head bowed. “Goddess Anuke, you honor me with your presence,” he
said.
He sounded so sincere
but Rosie fought a bubbling laugh. Dressed in her navy uniform, she
didn’t see how anyone could mistake her for a goddess. “Sir, I
think you’ve mistaken me for someone else.”
“My queen, mere
moments have passed since I beseeched you for guidance on our
forthcoming battle with the Hittites and traveling on the light of Ra
you have appeared in my chamber.” Confusion shined in his
almond-shaped eyes.
She stood up. Bless.
She’d apparently stumbled into a mental hospital. A small sigh
escaped her lips at the waste of such prime beefcake. “I am not a
goddess or a queen. I’m just plain old Rosie Carter.”
The ‘patient’ rose
to his feet and gave her an up-close and personal view of his
anatomy. She found his appendage strangely hypnotic. With only
experience of her now ex-husband as a lover, she could see exactly
how much she had missed out on.
“Hmm. Your strange
attire would indeed appear ineffective armor for the goddess of war.
If you are not the goddess herself and she has not sent you, then
perhaps Qadesh? Such a gift from the goddess of sexual pleasure would
surely increase a mortal’s prowess on the battlefield tenfold.”
He drew a thick fingertip from the hollow of her throat to the zipper
on her smock. Rosie had gone from goddess to sex toy in one fell
swoop.
Author
Bio:
Jorja Lovett is a British author with
both Irish and Scottish roots, which makes for a very dry sense of
humour. Writing since she was old enough to wield a pen, it wasn't
until she joined her crit group, UCW, that she pursued her passion
seriously.
Now, with Joe Manganiello as her
permanent muse, if she can leave the pause button on her Magic Mike
dvd long enough, she hopes to spend the rest of her days writing
steamy romances.
8 comments:
Hi, Jorja!
What a fun post! I love your little brain. And the excerpt is fantastic, both sexy and very funny.
You're a talented lady. Thanks for being my guest.
Sounds interesting
bn100candg at hotmail dot com
you should try procrastinating by keeping up with the exploits of your favourite 80's pop throwback ;-) cpollock@ntlworld.com
Thanks for having me :)
Thanks for stopping by :)
Well, my favourite 80's popstrel would be Jordan Knight and not a certain owner of a jaunty hat ;)
Oh I put things off that I do not feel like doing at a certain time... just ignore it is there waiting, push it to the side, spend more time reading, lol!
greenshamrock at cox dot net
Yep, LastMinuteLucy, that's me too :)
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