[Note from Frolic: We are so excited to have author Vivienne Lorret guest post on the site today. Take it away, Vivienne!]
There’s far too much luxury in having a home office. The things I need for success are within easy reach—a mug full of pens and sharpened pencils, an army of Post-its ready for random bursts of inspiration and grocery store lists, reliable internet, all the books and research material I’ve spent years accumulating at my fingertips, and a font of caffeine mere steps away instead of a trek across town.
But where’s the challenge? The beaded sweat of desperation? The artery-hardening anxiety from interruptions?
After all, everyone knows that writers need to struggle. We should have grit under our fingernails and enough caffeine in our veins to make fields of Camellia sinensis and groves of coffea arabica quake at our first morning sip.
The surest way to tap into the creative mind is to write every word under duress.
So, it helps that my desk chair came equipped with a button beneath the seat cushion that activates the phone I forgot to silence. Not only that, but this amazing switch also sets lawnmowers to full throttle, motivates construction crews, and emits a dog whistle that invites conversation between every canine in my neighborhood and the next. Another bonus is that my office is a converted three-season room with walls the hearty thickness of rice paper. There’s the possibility of stealing a fourth season, should I ever suffer the inclination to burn dollar bills in a brazier for the electric company in order to keep my fingertips and nose from falling off.
But, best of all are the visits from a supportive family member who checks the hinges of my door at regular intervals to ensure that, yes, they still work. And while I have your attention… Have you seen the remote? Do you think I should go to the doctor about this mole? How many lightyears away is the sun? If a man is traveling on a train going 78 miles per hour and his dog is walking alone in the woods, how long will it take him to remember to buy potatoes at the grocery store?
Now, this was where my brilliant idea of writing in my car came into being.
With the deadline for The Rogue to Ruin looming, I spent most of last summer in the quiet confines of my car, happily plunking away on the keys.
Since I tend to speak my characters’ lines aloud (and knowing that my British accent requires a listener to squint their ears and have a healthy imagination), I’d needed a somewhat secluded spot. Not so far out that I’d wonder if chirruping crickets were trying to warn me of an axe-wielding serial killer lurking in the woods. And not so close that people were encouraged to slow down, tap on the glass, and ask if everything was alright while frowning at the laptop on my legs. Yes, officer. Everything is fine. Twitching? Well, that’s only because I’m trying to get in 500 more words before my bladder explodes.
Then, lo and behold, I found the perfect place—a virtually empty parking lot with a view of a manicured landscape dotted with trees. It was lovely. I wrote most of the book sitting in the passenger seat.
But where was the writer’s struggle, you ask? The coal of torment that could, under the right amount of pressure, turn into a diamond in the rough?
This came from time. Naturally, given the fact that I’ve been blessed with the opportunity to write, it seems logical that I would provide myself the time to succeed, to break down each day into scenes and chapters and complete the work ahead of schedule. But the Procrastinator is a cunning trickster that steals clocks and adds days to the calendar. Then, at the last minute, the truth is revealed on a digital display of milliseconds flashing in the panic center of the brain.
All I can say is, if you ever decide to write in your car and require an additional obstacle to hurdle, do yourself a favor and forget your power supply. Then open up the calculator to discover that, in order to reach your 4k word goal, you’ll need to type 44.4 words of dialogue and description per minute for the next 90 minutes until the battery dies. Fun times.
Another way to pile on the pressure is by choosing a parking spot that faces east in the morning. This way, you’ll get the full, sweaty terrarium experience. It’s great for the pores, and for washing away the pesky lettering on the keyboard.
In the end, you’ll come out of the experience a more seasoned writer and less a few pounds of water weight.
About the Author:
USA Today bestselling author Vivienne Lorret transforms copious amounts of tea into words. She is an Avon author of works including: The Wallflower Wedding Series, The Rakes of Fallow Hall Series, The Season’s Original Series, and the Misadventures in Matchmaking Series. For more information on her books, sign up for her newsletter at www.vivlorret.net.
The Rogue to Ruin by Vivienne Lorret, out now!
The Bourne Matrimonial Agency has one rule: Never fall in love with a client, which shouldn’t be a problem when one’s faking an engagement to the rogue across the street . . .
Ainsley Bourne needs the family business to succeed. But one obstacle stands in her way—Reed Sterling, the huge, handsome, former prize fighter and owner of the gaming hell across the street. His scandalous customers scare off all her marriage-minded patrons and since the devilish brute has no intention of relocating, she sets out to ruin his unsavory establishment. Yet when a vile suitor from her past reappears, Ainsley hastily claims an attachment to the first man who comes to mind . . . Mr. Sterling, to be exact.
Reed doesn’t know who is more surprised by Miss Bourne’s declaration. She clearly hates him, and he’d never admit their arguments simmer with unrequited attraction. Something about the pleading look in her eyes calls to Reed, and against his better judgment, he quickly plays the part of the besotted fiancé.
Pretending to be in love requires a convincing charade. But with each tantalizing touch and every scandalous kiss, Ainsley starts to wonder if Reed was ever really the enemy at all.