6:30 AM – Husband gets up to go for his
daily run. Author rolls over, looks at the clock and mumbles, “Five more
minutes.”
7:30 AM – Husband has returned from run,
showered and is now getting dressed. Author looks at the clock. Sighs. Looks at
the clock again. Gets up.
7:40 AM – Husband is downstairs having
breakfast. Author is at the computer pretending to read important emails but is
really just deleting the junk mail. Author also checks both the private and the
public Facebook accounts and “Likes” all posts about Outlander. Author then checks the weather report in case she
decides to go outside at some point today. Author skims the news to make sure
the world hasn’t blown up while she was sleeping.
8:30 AM – Husband has finished breakfast,
set up easel and is busy with a new painting. Author heads to the bathroom for
her morning toilette.
9:00 AM – Husband is busy painting. Author
has brushed her teeth and dressed. Contemplates breakfast, plays a game of
Spider Solitaire on the computer instead.
9:15 AM – Husband still painting. Author
sighs and pulls out the laptop with a longing gaze at the Scrapbooking table.
9:30 AM – Husband painting. Still. Author
has re-read the last two pages of the current work-in-progress and played
another game of Spider Solitaire.
9:45 AM – Husband putting the finishing
touches on his painting. Author has written a paragraph.
10:00 AM – Author is writing! Words are
flowing out of her fingers! She is on a roll. Husband has finished painting and
wants her to come take a look at it. Author does.
10:10 AM – Husband has moved to his desk;
is checking emails. Author is back at her laptop trying to remember where she
left off.
10:15 AM – Author is back! The characters
are cooperating and the story is flying! Husband decides he wants to go to the
grocery store. Is there anything else Author can think of that we need?
10:30 AM – Husband is gone. Author has
uninterrupted time. Author sits down, re-reads last paragraph. Types a
sentence. Plays a game of Spider Solitaire. Checks for the mail. Decides the
desk needs straightening. Looks longingly at the Scrapbooking table. Writes
another sentence.
11:00 AM – Husband returns with groceries.
Author gets up, glad for the interruption and puts away groceries with Husband.
11:15 AM – Husband is hungry; asks Author
if she wants to go to the local diner for lunch. Author looks longingly at the
laptop and gets snarky with the story. “If you won’t talk to me, then I won’t
talk to you,” Author yells at the characters. Author shuts the laptop harder
than she should and goes to lunch.
12:30 PM – Husband is mowing the lawn.
Author is back at the laptop. Author re-reads the last page and starts writing.
It’s crap, but she writes it anyway. That’s what editing is for.
3:00 PM – Author realizes Husband finished
mowing the lawn a long time ago. Checks her word count: she’s two thousand
words further. Author looks around. How did that happen and where is Husband?
Has a vague recollection of him saying something to her a while back. Author
looks through the house, Husband is not home. Author can’t remember where he
said he was going, but the car is gone. Author feels the story calling and goes
back to the laptop. Husband will come home when Husband comes home, she
figures.
4:30 PM – Author comes out of the story
when Husband walks in. Word count over five thousand total for the day.
Author’s fingers are tired. Asks where Husband has been. Husband looks at her
as if she’s lost her mind. “Dentist appointment?” He says it as a question
instead of a statement, obviously unsure of her mental stability. Author passes
it off as a simple case of forgetting, not wanting to admit she didn’t pay
attention when Husband left because Author was in the story.
5:00 PM – Author has not made dinner.
Husband throws some steaks on the grill. Author looks for vegetables in
freezer. There are none. Will have to tell Husband to get some the next time he
goes grocery shopping, forgetting that Husband already did that.
5:30 PM – Author and Husband sit down to
dinner. Author, now fully out of the story, asks, “So, Dear, what did you do
today?” Husband just sighs.
*****
I hope you enjoyed this light-hearted look
at a typical day in my life. It isn’t far from the truth! Thank goodness I have
a wonderful husband who (mostly) understands that, when my mind is on my story,
there isn’t much room inside my brain for much else. He recognizes that faraway
look in my eye and pretty much knows when I’m not really attending to the conversation.
Check out SHOOTING STAR, a story
that I really got into writing a while back. It’s the story of a fictional
small town (set not too far away from the real small town where I live) that is
turned upside down when a major Hollywood movie company decides to film on a nearby
farm. Love, laughter, murder and mayhem abound—with a little BDSM thrown in, of
course.
Excerpt from Shooting Star
Diana Hunter
All Rights Reserved
Callie rolled onto her back, the
comforter covering her as she awaited his return. Did she really just have sex
with Hal London? My God, what a field day the press would have with that little
tidbit. In a momentary panic, she sat up and checked her windows. The thin
blinds were shut and all the way down as usual. Relieved, she plopped onto her
pillows. No pictures for the paparazzi.
He came in and she got her first good
look at his naked body. She already knew about the magnificent shoulders and
the strong chest. Hadn’t both been her rock earlier this evening? Several
nearly-nude scenes in his movies had shown her his narrow waist with the trail
of fine hairs that arrowed along his tummy to the waistband of his shorts.
Only now he didn’t wear any shorts. He
didn’t wear anything and he crossed the room completely naked. His cock, no longer
hard, hung down and Callie grimaced. Even limp he was sizeable. And she had
taken him at full length and hard? She rolled to turn out the light as he got
in on the other side of the bed to hide the fact he’d just given her pussy
another very nice twinge.
“I probably should send you back to
your own bed,” she told him.
“I’d rather stay here and chase away
any more boogie men who come to haunt.”
At the reference to what brought him
into her room in the first place, she shuddered and moved closer. “I think I
like that idea, actually.”
He spooned her into his arms and she
placed a gentle kiss on his muscled arm. “Thank you,” she whispered.
His nose nuzzled her hair. “It’s okay.
I meant what I said, Callie. I know it made you mad earlier, but I really am
not going to let anything hurt you.” He paused and then said something she
didn’t catch.
“What?”
“Nothing. Go to sleep, Callie.”
She liked the way he said her name. He
drew the ‘a’ out almost like a caress. She was no fool. Hal London wasn’t for
her. Tonight, however, the glamour and the spotlight didn’t exist and she fell
asleep feeling warm and comfortable in his arms.
****
Find this and links to my other novels at
http://www,dianahunter.net . You can also find me on Twitter (dianahunter) and
Facebook (dianahunter1616).
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