So my first completed novel is in the can (that is to say written, proofread, beta read and ready for final editing) and my second novel is about a third of the way written, but I keep getting sidetracked by voices in my head! It seems that by finally finishing a book, after years of attempting to, there are all these other books wanting to come out of me. I feel a little bit like Whoopie Goldburg in Ghost when she is overwhelmed by all these other ghosts just because she was able to hear Patrick Swayze’s character. It seems that because I was finally able to tell the story of two of my characters, the rest of them want their stories told too…and they are not patient about it!
Let’s take Alex Hale for instance. He decided it would be a good idea to wake me up in the middle of the night with just the first line of his story:
No one could pick a lock quite like Eddie Hale, but his son, Alex, wasn’t far off.
He woke me up for that! That was it, that one line…sheesh!
Others are a little more polite, like Mia, who wanted me to know she was having a bad day.
As days went, she thought, it was pretty crap. In fact, she thought as she put her head in her hands, it was probably the crappiest day she’d ever had and, to punctuate that point, she was once again showered with dirty water as another car drove through the puddle directly in front of her. Did nobody see her sitting there, in the gutter, in the pouring rain, her shopping spread around her like a rummage sale? She laid back on the hard, wet cement, the cold water soaking through her soggy pullover and wished that the ground would open up and swallow her. So much for her new wardrobe, so much for making an impression on her new boss, so much for her plans to start fresh. The universe obviously had other ideas for her. She closed her eyes and let the tears merge with the rain that was gently falling on her upturned face. It seemed that she was destined to be the clumsy, awkward, nerdy girl that she had always been. Moving nearly a thousand kilometres away from her home town and spending the last of her savings on new clothes all for the sake of her new exciting job with her new exciting boss was going to be for nothing. It seemed impossible that she could be anything other than what she had always been, plain, boring, predictable Mia.
Obviously this girl is desperate for something to go right for her and she wants me to make it happen, and I really want to help but I am still a working mother and already writing another book. There is only so much I can do.
There was also another character that demanded to be heard:
“Goddamit Rick,” Michelle swore as she stomped into the garage, pulling off her helmet and throwing her gloves down on the bench.
Rick eyed his sister’s reflection in the darkened window in front if him. She stood, legs apart, hands on hips, her flame retardant suit fitting her like a second skin, her flaming red hair standing up like medusas and glaring at the back of his head. He didn’t turn around to face her straight away and he knew that just pissed her off more.
“You told me you’d fixed it. You bloody well promised me it was fixed and guess what? It bloody well isn’t! I nearly put the car into the wall on turn three and all because you didn’t do your bloody job!” She stomped her foot but the soft leather driving booties she wore were unsatisfyingly silent on the concrete floor.
Rick finally turned toward her, he took in her hostile stance and his eyes narrowed, “And if you’d bloody well listen to me and stop trying to put the car through the corner at mach four, it wouldn’t keep breaking. I’m not a friggin’ miracle worker Michelle!”
The rest of the garage was deadly silent. The knock down drag out fights between the driver and head mechanic were not unusual and everyone in the team knew to steer clear whenever the twins started going at it.
Twins, Michelle and Rick want their story heard as does Melody:
Melody looked at the man that took the seat across the desk from her and felt her insides turn to jelly. It was as if he had been picked straight out of her dreams and plonked down in front of her. Her thoughts swirled as her heart raced and she felt sweat prickle her top lip. His thick dark hair was neatly trimmed with the fringe swept across to the side. He had a strong jaw that was peppered with dark stubble and eyebrows that arched casually above blue-green eyes – did that make them aquamarine? He smiled at her, his full lips turning up at the sides and revealing straight white teeth.
“Hi,” he said, his voice flowing over her like thick dark chocolate, “I’m Finbar Davis.” He reached across to shake her hand…
…”Please,” he said as he stood, “Call me Fin.”
Melody stood, smoothing her calf length pencil skirt while surruptitiously wiping the sweat from her hands and walked around the desk to shake his hand. He was tall, much taller than her petite five foot one. His neat but casual polo shirt hugged his well muscled torso and she had to look away to hide the lust that was surely showing in her eyes. He took a step closer to her and she breathed in his citrusy aftershave, her eyes fluttering closed, she popped them open quickly hoping he didn’t notice, but he was staring right at her, his aquamarine eyes deepening to an emerald green as he swept her from head to toe. She could feel the heat of his body through her thin silk blouse and wanted nothing more than to lean into him and rest her head in the hollow between his neck and shoulder. Instead she took a step back and stuck out her hand.
“It was a pleasure meeting you Fin,” she said, falling back on her finishing school manners.
He smiled his brain fogging smile and took her hand, lifting it to his lips and kissing it lightly, ” The pleasure was all mine,” he said softly. He let go of her hand slowly, ” I look forward to our next meeting, ” he said as he walked out of her office.
Melody grabbed a file off her desk and fanned her overheated cheeks as she watched his chino clad derrière disappear out the door.
“Damn,” she said to herself.
I love this app. I have always collected notebooks to write stuff down whenever the inspiration strikes, but the problem with physical notebooks is that they get lost, trashed, wet or forgotten about and all those precious notes are lost. With Evernote, it is on my phone, my iPad, my Mac and my other multiple laptops (I’m a tech geek) and they all sync. So wherever I am I can write down what the voices are telling me and then when I get back to my Mac I can just copy and paste into Scrivner (another brilliant app) and voilà! everyone’s happy – no more lost notes and no more screaming voices in my head 😁
But this was not intended to be a fangirl post about Evernote, I just though you guys might like to know how I cope with the pesky voices.